Ticonderoga: A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley
by G. P. R. James · English · Gutenberg #50853 · 723,224 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Ticonderoga: A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley
Author: G. P. R. James
Illustrator: J. Watson Davis
Release date: January 5, 2016 [eBook #50853]
Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TICONDEROGA: A STORY OF EARLY FRONTIER LIFE IN THE MOHAWK VALLEY ***
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[Book Cover: Ticonderoga By G. P. R. JAMES]
[Illustration By J. Watson Davis:
As a tall dark figure gilded into the room, Lord H---- drew Edith
suddenly back and placed himself before her. Page 99.
_Frontispiece_. --_Ticonderoga_]
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_A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley_
-----------------------------------------------------
_By G. P. R. JAMES_
_Author of "Darnley, A Romance of the times
of Henry VIII."; "Richelieu, A Tale of
France in the Reign of King Louis XIII_."
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A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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TICONDEROGA
CHAPTER I
The house was a neat, though a lowly one. It bore traces of newness,
for the bark on the trunks which supported the little veranda had not
yet mouldered away. Nevertheless, it was not built by the owner's own
hands; for when he came there he had much to learn in the rougher arts
of life; but with a carpenter from a village some nine miles off, he
had aided to raise the building and directed the construction by his
own taste. The result was satisfactory to him; and, what was more, in
his eyes, was satisfactory to the two whom he loved best--at least, it
seemed satisfactory to them, although those who knew them, even not so
well as he did, might have doubted, and yet loved them all the better.
The door of the house was open, and custom admitted every visitor
freely, whatever was his errand. It was a strange state of society
that, in which men, though taught by daily experience that precaution
was necessary, took none. They held themselves occasionally ready to
repel open assault, which was rare, and neglected every safeguard
against insidious attack, which was much more common.
It was the custom of the few who visited that secluded spot to enter
without ceremony, and to search in any or every room in the house for
some one of the inhabitants. But on this occasion the horse that came
up the road stopped at the gate of the little fence, and the traveler,
whoever he was, when he reached the door after dismounting, knocked
with his whip before he entered.
The master of the house rose and went to the door. He was somewhat
impatient of ceremony, but the aspect and demeanor of his visitor were
not of a kind to nourish any angry feeling. He was a young and very
handsome man, probably not more than thirty years of age, sinewy and
well formed in person, with a noble and commanding countenance, a
broad, high brow, and a keen but tranquil eye. His manner was
courteous, but grave, and he said, without waiting to have his errand
asked: "I know not, sir, whether I shall intrude upon you too far in
asking hospitality for the night, but the sun is going down, and I was
told by a lad whom I met in the woods just now that there is no other
house for ten miles farther; and, to say the truth, I am very ignorant
of the way."
"Come in," said the master of the cottage. "We never refuse to receive
a visitor here, and, indeed, have sometimes to accommodate more than
the house will well hold. We are alone, however, now, and you will not
have to put up with the inconveniences which our guests are sometimes
obliged to encounter. Stay! I will order your horse to be taken care
of."
Thus saying, he advanced a step or two beyond the door and called in a
loud voice for someone whom he named Agrippa. He had to shout more
than once, however, before a negro appeared, blind in one eye, and
somewhat lame withal, but yet, apparently, both active and
intelligent. The necessary orders were soon given, and in a moment
after the traveler was seated with his host in the little parlor of
the cottage. The manner of the latter could not be called cordial,
though it was polite and courteous.
The other seemed to feel it in some degree, and a certain stateliness
appeared in his demeanor which was not likely to warm his host into
greater familiarity. But suddenly the chilly atmosphere of the room
was warmed in a moment, and a chain of sympathy established between
the two by the presence of youth. A boy of sixteen, and a girl a
little more than a year older, entered with gay and sunshiny looks,
and the cloud was dispelled in a moment.
"My daughter Edith--my son Walter," said the master of the house,
addressing the stranger, as the two young people bounded in; and then
he added, with a slight inclination of the head: "It was an ancient
and honorable custom in Scotland, when that country was almost as
uncivilized as this, and possessed all the uncivilized virtues, never
to inquire the name of a guest; and therefore I cannot introduce you
to my children; but doubtless they will soon acknowledge you as their
nameless friend."
"I am a friend of one of them already," answered the stranger, holding
out his hand to the lad. "This is the young gentleman who told me that
I should find the only house within ten miles about this spot, and his
father willing to receive me, though he did not say that I should find
a gem in the wilderness, and a gentleman in these wild woods."
"It has been a foolish fancy, perhaps," said the master of the house,
"to carry almost into the midst of savage life some remnants of
civilization. We keep the portraits of dead friends--a lock of hair--a
trinket--a garment of the loved and departed. The habits and the
ornaments of another state of society are to me like those friends,
and I long to have some of their relics near me."
"Oh, my dear father," said Edith, seating herself by him and leaning
her head upon his bosom, without timidity or restraint, "you could
never do without them. I remember when we were coming hither, now
three years ago, that you talked a great deal of free, unshackled
existence; but I knew quite well, even then, that you could not be
content till you had subdued the rough things around you to a more
refined state."
"What made you think so, Edith?" asked her father, looking down at her
with a smile.
"Because you never could bear the parson of the parish drinking punch
and smoking tobacco pipes," answered the beautiful girl, with a laugh;
"and I was quite sure that it was not more savage life you sought, but
greater refinement."
"Oh, yes, my father," added the lad; "and you often said, when we were
in England, that the red Indian had much more of the real gentleman in
him than many a peer."
"Dreams, dreams," said their father, with a melancholy smile; and
then, turning to the stranger, he added: "You see, sir, how keenly our
weaknesses are read by even children. But come, Edith, our friend must
be hungry with his long ride; see and hasten the supper. Our habits
are primeval here, sir, like our woods. We follow the sun to bed, and
wake with him in the morning."
"They are good habits," answered the stranger, "and such as I am
accustomed to follow much myself. But do not, I pray you, hasten your
supper for me. I am anything but a slave of times and seasons. I can
fast long, and fare scantily, without inconvenience."
"And yet you are an Englishman," answered the master of the house,
gravely, "a soldier, or I mistake; a man of station, I am sure; though
all three would generally infer, as the world goes at this present
time, a fondness for luxurious ease and an indulgence of all the
appetites."
A slight flush came into his young companion's cheek, and the other
hastened to add: "Believe me, I meant nothing discourteous. I spoke of
the Englishman, the soldier, and the man of rank and station
generally, not of yourself. I see it is far otherwise with you."
"You hit hard, my good friend," replied the stranger, "and there is
some truth in what you say. But perhaps I have seen as many lands as
you, and I boldly venture to pronounce that the fault is in the age,
not in the nation, the profession, or the class."
As he spoke he rose, walked thoughtfully to the window, and gazed out
for a moment or two in silence; and then, turning round, he said,
addressing his host's son: "How beautifully the setting sun shines
down yonder glade in the forest, pouring, as it were, in a golden mist
through the needle foliage of the pines. Runs there a road down
there?"
The boy answered in the affirmative, and drawing close to the
stranger's side pointed out to him, by the undulation of the ground
and the gaps in the tree tops, the wavy line that the road followed,
down the side of the gentle hill, saying: "By a white oak and a great
hemlock tree, there is a footpath to the left; at a clump of large
cedars on the edge of the swamp the road forks out to the right and
left, one leading eastward toward the river, and one out westward to
the hunting grounds."
The stranger seemed to listen to him with pleasure, often turning his
eyes to the lad's face as he spoke, rather than to the landscape to
which he pointed; and when he had done he laid his hand on his
shoulder, saying, "I wish I had such a guide as you, Walter, for my
onward journey."
"Will it be far?" asked the youth.
"Good faith, I cannot well tell," answered the other. "It may be as
far as Montreal, or even to Quebec, if I get not satisfaction soon."
"I could not guide you as far as that," replied the boy, "but I know
every step toward the lakes, as well as an Indian."
"With whom he is very fond of consorting," said his father, with a
smile.
But before the conversation could proceed farther, an elderly,
respectable woman servant entered the room and announced that supper
was on the table. Edith had not returned, but they found her in a
large, oblong chamber to which the master of the house led the way.
There was a long table in the midst, and four wooden chairs arranged
round one end, over which a snowy tablecloth was spread. The rest of
the table was bare, but there were a number of other seats and two or
three benches in the room, while at equal distances on either side,
touching the walls, lay a number of bear and buffalo skins, as if
spread out for beds.
The eye of the stranger glanced over them as he entered, but his host
replied to his thoughts, with a smile: "We will lodge you somewhat
better than that, sir. We have, just now, more than one room vacant;
but you must know there is no such thing as privacy in this land, and
when we have any invasion of our Indian friends those skins make them
supremely happy. I often smile to think how a redman would feel in
Holland sheets. I tried it once, but it did not succeed. He pulled the
blankets off the bed and slept upon the floor."
Seated at the table, the conversation turned to many subjects,
general, of course, but yet personally interesting to both the elder
members of the party.
More than an hour was beguiled at the table--a longer period than
ordinary--and then the bright purple hues which spread over the
eastern wall of the room, opposite the windows, told that the autumnal
sun had reached the horizon. The master of the house rose to lead the
way into another room again, but ere he moved from the table another
figure was added to the group around it, though the foot was so
noiseless that no one heard its entrance into the chamber.
The person who had joined the little party was a man of middle age, of
a tall, commanding figure, upright and dignified carriage, and fine,
but somewhat strongly marked features. The expression of his
countenance was grave and noble, but yet there was a certain
strangeness in it--a touch of wildness, perhaps I might call it--very
difficult to define. It was not in the eyes, for they were good, calm,
and steadfast, gazing straight at any object of contemplation, and
fixed full upon the face of anyone he addressed. It was not in the
lips, for, except when speaking, they were firm and motionless.
Perhaps it was in the eyebrow, which, thick and strongly marked, was
occasionally suddenly raised or depressed, without apparent cause.
His dress was very strange. He was evidently of European blood,
although his skin was embrowned by much exposure to sun and weather.
But yet he wore not altogether the European costume, the garb of the
American backwoodsman, or that of the Indian. There was a mixture of
all, which gave him a wild and fantastic appearance. His coat was
evidently English, and had straps of gold lace upon the shoulders; his
knee breeches and high riding boots would have looked English, also,
had not the latter been destitute of soles, properly so called; for
they were made somewhat like a stocking, and the part beneath the foot
was of the same leather as the rest. Over his shoulder was a belt of
rattlesnake skin, and round his waist a sort of girdle, formed from
the claws of the bear, from which depended a string of wampum, while
two or three knives and a small tomahawk appeared on either side. No
other weapons had he whatever. But under his left arm hung a common
powder flask, made of cow's horn, and beside it, a sort of wallet,
such as trappers commonly used for carrying their little store of
Indian corn. A round fur cap of bearskin, without any ornament
whatever, completed his habiliments.
It would seem that in that house he was well known, for its master
instantly held forth his hand to him, and the young people sprang
forward and greeted him warmly. A full minute elapsed before he spoke,
but nobody uttered a word till he did so, all seeming to understand
his habits.
"Well, Mr. Prevost," he said, at length, "I have been a stranger to
your wigwam for some time. How art thou, Walter? Not a man yet, in
spite of all thou canst do? Edith, my sweet lady, time deals
differently with thee from thy brother. He makes thee a woman against
thy will." Then turning suddenly to the stranger, he said: "Sir, I am
glad to see you. Were you ever at Kielmansegge?"
"Once," replied the stranger, laconically.
"Then we will confer presently," replied the newcomer. "How have you
been this many a day, Mr. Prevost? You must give me food, for I have
ridden far. I will have that bearskin, too, for my night's lodging
place, if it be not pre-engaged. No, not that one, the next. I have
told Agrippa to see to my horse, for I ever count upon your courtesy."
There was something extremely stately and dignified in his whole tone,
and with frank straightforwardness, but without any indecorous haste,
he seated himself at the table, drew toward him a large dish of cold
meat, and while Edith and her brother hastened to supply him with
everything else he needed, proceeded to help himself liberally to
whatever was within his reach. Not a word more did he speak for
several minutes, while Mr. Prevost and his guest stood looking on in
silence, and the two young people attended the newcomer at the table.
As soon as he had done he rose abruptly, and then, looking first to
Mr. Prevost, and next to the stranger, said: "Now, gentlemen, if you
please, we will to council."
The stranger hesitated, and Mr. Prevost answered, with a smile: "I am
not of the initiated, Sir William; but I and the children will leave
you with my guest, whom you seem to know, but of whose name[1] and
station I am ignorant."
"Stay! stay!" replied the other, to whom he spoke. "We shall need not
only your advice but your concurrence. This gentleman I will answer
for as a faithful and loyal subject of his majesty King George. He has
been treated with that hardest of all treatments--neglect. But his is
a spirit in which not even neglect can drown out loyalty to his king
and love to his country. Moreover, I may say, that the neglect which
he has met with has proceeded from a deficiency in his own nature.
God, unfortunately, did not make him a grumbler, or he would have been
a peer long ago. The Almighty endowed him with all the qualities that
could benefit his fellow creatures, but denied him those which were
necessary to advance himself. Others have wondered that he never met
with honors, or distinction, or reward. I wonder not at all; for he is
neither a charlatan, nor a coxcomb, nor a pertinacious beggar. He
cannot stoop to slabber the hand of power, nor lick the spittle of the
man in office. How can such a man have advancement? It is contrary to
the course of the things of this world. But as he has loved his fellow
men, so will he love them. As he has served his country, so will he
serve it. As he has sought honor and truth more than promotion, honor
and truth will be his reward--alas! that it should be the only one.
But when he dies, if he dies unrecompensed, it will not be
unregretted, or unvenerated. He must be of our council."
Mr. Prevost had stood by in silence, with his eyes bent upon the
ground. But Edith sprang forward and caught Sir William Johnson's hand
as he ended the praises of her father, and bending her head with
exquisite grace, pressed her lips upon it. Her brother seemed inclined
to linger for a moment, but saying, "Come, Walter," she glided out of
the room, and the young lad, following, closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER II
"Who can he be?" said Walter Prevost, when they had reached the little
sitting-room. "Sir William called him 'My Lord.'"
Edith smiled at her brother's curiosity. Oh, how much older women
always are than men!
"Lords are small things here, Walter," she said.
"I do not think that lords are small things anywhere," answered her
brother, who had not imbibed any of the republican spirit which was
even then silently creeping over the American people. "Lords are made
by kings for great deeds or great virtues."
"Then they are lords of their own making," answered Edith. "Kings only
seal the patent nature has bestowed. That great red oak, Walter, was
growing before the family of any man now living was ennobled by the
hand of royalty."
"Pooh, nonsense!" answered her brother. "You are indulging in one of
your day dreams. What has that oak to do with nobility?"
"I hardly know," replied his sister, "but yet something linked them
together in my mind. It seemed as if the oak asked me, 'What is their
antiquity to mine?' And yet the antiquity of their families is their
greatest claim to our reverence."
"No! no!" cried Walter Prevost, eagerly. "Their antiquity is nothing,
for we are all of as ancient a family as they are. But it is that they
can show a line from generation to generation, displaying some high
qualities, ennobled by some great acts. Granted that here or there a
sluggard, a coward, or a fool may have intervened, or that the acts
which have won praise in other days may not be reverenced now. Yet I
have often heard my father say that, in looking back through records
of noble houses, we shall find a sum of deeds and qualities suited to
and honored by succeeding ages, which, tried by the standard of the
times of the men, shows that hereditary nobility is not merely an
honor won by a worthy father for unworthy children, but a bond to
great endeavors, signed by a noble ancestor on behalf of all his
descendants. Edith, you are not saying what you think."
"Perhaps not," answered Edith, with a quiet smile; "but let us have
some lights, Walter, for I am well nigh in darkness."
The lights were brought, and Walter and his sister sat down to muse
over books--I can hardly say to read--till their father reappeared;
for the evening prayer and the parting kiss had never been omitted in
their solitude ere they lay down to rest. The conference in the hall,
however, was long, and more than an hour elapsed before the three
gentlemen entered the room. Then a few minutes were passed in quiet
conversation, and then, all standing round the table, Mr. Prevost
raised his voice, saying: "Protect us, O Father Almighty, in the hours
of darkness and unconsciousness. Give us thy blessing of sleep to
refresh our minds and bodies; and if it be thy will, let us wake again
to serve and praise thee through another day more perfectly than in
the days past, for Christ's sake."
The Lord's Prayer succeeded, and then they separated to their rest.
Before daylight in the morning Sir William Johnson was on foot and in
the stable. Some three or four negro slaves--for there were slaves
then on all parts of the continent--lay sleeping soundly in a small
sort of barrack hard by; and as soon as one of them could be roused,
his horse was saddled, and he rode away without stopping to eat or say
farewell. He bent his course direct toward the banks of the Mohawk,
flowing at some twenty miles distance from the cottage of Mr. Prevost;
and before he had been five minutes in the saddle was in the midst of
the deep woods which surrounded the little well cultivated spot where
the English wanderer had settled.
About a mile from the house a bright and beautiful stream crossed the
road, flowing onward toward the greater river; but bridge there was
none, and in the middle of the stream Sir William suffered his horse
to stop and bend its head to drink. He gazed to the eastward, but all
there was dark and gloomy under the thick overhanging branches. He
turned his eyes to the westward, and they rested on a figure standing
in the midst of the stream, with rod in hand, and his back turned
toward him. He thought he saw another figure, too, amidst the trees
upon the bank; but it was shadowy there, and the form seemed shadowy,
too.
After gazing for a moment or two, he raised his voice and exclaimed:
"Walter! Walter Prevost!"
The lad heard him, and laying his rod upon the bank, hastened along
over the green turf to join him; but at the same moment the figure
among the trees--if really figure it was--disappeared from sight.
"Thou art out early, Walter," said Sir William. "What do you at this
hour?"
"I am catching trout for the stranger's breakfast," said the lad, with
a gay laugh. "You should have had your share, had you but waited."
"Who was that speaking to you on the bank above?" asked the other,
gravely.
"Merely an Indian girl, watching me fishing," replied Walter Prevost.
"I hope your talk was discreet," rejoined Sir William. "These are
dangerous times, when trifles are of import, Walter."
"There was no indiscretion," replied the lad, with the color mounting
slightly in his cheek. "She was noticing the feather flies with which
I caught the fish, and blamed me for using them. She said it was a
shame to catch anything with false pretences."
"She is wise," answered the other, with a faint smile, "but yet that
is hardly the wisdom of her people. An Indian maiden!" he added,
thoughtfully. "Of what tribe is she? One of the Five Nations, I
trust."
"Oh, yes; an Oneida," replied Walter. "One of the daughters of the
Stone, the child of a sachem who often lodges at our house."
"Well, be she who she may," said Sir William, "be careful of your
speech, especially regarding your father's guest. I say not, to
conceal that there is a stranger with you, for that cannot be; but
whatever you see or guess of his station, or his errand, keep it to
yourself, and let not a woman be the sharer of your thoughts till you
have tried her with many a trial."
"She would not betray them, I am sure," answered the lad, warmly, and
then added, with some slight embarrassment, as if he felt that he had
in a degree betrayed himself, "but she has nothing to reveal or to
conceal. Our talk was all of the river and the fish. We met by
accident, and she is gone."
"Perhaps you may meet by accident again," said the other, "and then be
careful. But now to more serious things. Perchance your father may
have to send you to Albany--perchance to my castle. You can find your
way speedily to either. Is it not so?"
"Further than either," replied the lad, gayly.
"But you may have a heavy burden to carry," rejoined Sir William. "Do
you think you can bear it--I mean the burden of a secret?"
"I will not drop it by the way," answered Walter, gravely.
"Not if the sachem's daughter offer to divide the load?" asked his
companion.
"Doubt me not," said Walter.
"I do not," said Sir William. "I do not; but I would have you warned.
And now farewell. You are very young to meet maidens in the wood. Be
careful. Farewell."
He rode on, and the boy tarried by the roadside and meditated.
In about two minutes he took his way up the stream again, still
musing, toward the place where he had laid down his rod.
He sprang up the bank, and in amongst the maples; and some ten minutes
after, the sun rising higher, poured its light through the stems upon
a boy and girl seated at the foot of an old tree; he with his arms
around her, and his hand resting on the soft, brown, velvety skin, and
she with her head upon his bosom, and her warm lips within the reach
of his.
Her skin was brown, I have said, yes, very brown, but still hardly
browner than his own. Her eyes were dark and bright, of the true
Indian hue, but larger and more open than is at all common in many of
the tribes of Iroquois. Her lips, too, were rosy, and as pure of all
tinge of brown as those of any child of Europe; and her fingers, also,
were stained of Aurora's own hue. But her long, silky black hair would
have spoken her race at once had not each tress terminated in a wavy
curl. The lines of the form and of the face were all wonderfully
lovely, too, and yet were hardly those which characterize so
peculiarly the Indian nations. The nose was straighter, the cheek
bones less prominent, the head more beautifully set upon the
shoulders. The expression, too, as she rested there with her cheek
leaning on his breast, was not that of the usual Indian countenance.
It was softer, more tender, more impassioned; for though romance and
poetry have done all they could to spiritualize the character of
Indian love, I fear, from what I have seen and heard and known, it is
rarely what it has been portrayed. Her face, however, was full of love
and tenderness and emotion; and the picture of the two as they sat
there told at once of a tale of love just spoken to a willing ear.
CHAPTER III
The hour of breakfast had arrived when Walter Prevost returned with
his river spoil; but the party at the house had not yet sat down to
table. The guest who had arrived on the preceding night was standing
at the door talking with Edith, while Mr. Prevost himself was within
in conference with some of the slaves. Shaded by the little rustic
porch, Edith was leaning against the door post in an attitude of
exquisite grace, and the stranger, with his arms crossed upon his
broad, manly chest, now raising his eyes to her face, now dropping
them to the ground, seemed to watch with interest the effect his words
produced as it was written on that beautiful countenance.
"I know not," said the stranger, speaking as the young man approached,
"I know not how I should endure it myself for any length of time. The
mere abstract beauty of nature would, soon pall upon my taste, I fear,
without occupation."
"But you would make occupation," answered Edith, earnestly; "you would
find it. Occupation for the body is never wanting when you have to
improve and cultivate and ornament; and occupation flows in from a
thousand gushing sources in God's universe--even were one deprived of
books and music."
"Aye, but companionships and social converse, and the interchange of
thought with thought," said the stranger; "where could one find
those?" and he raised his eyes to her face.
"Have I not my brother and my father?" she asked.
"True, you have," said the other; "but I should have no such
resource."
He had seen a slight hesitation in her last reply. He thought that he
had touched the point where the yoke of solitude galled the spirit. He
was not the one to plant or to nourish discontent in anyone, and he
turned at once to her brother, saying: "What, at the stream so early,
my young friend? Have you had sport?"
"Not very great," answered Walter. "My fish are few, but they are
large. Look here!"
"I call such sport excellent," said the stranger, looking into the
basket. "I must have you take me with you some fair morning, for I am
a great lover of the angle."
The lad hesitated, and turned somewhat redder in the cheek than he had
been the moment before; but his sister saved him from reply, saying,
in a musing tone: "I cannot imagine what delight men feel in what they
call the sports of the field. To inflict death may be a necessity, but
surely should not be an amusement."
"Man is a born hunter, Miss Prevost," replied the stranger, with a
smile. "He must chase something. Oh, my dear young lady! few can tell
the enjoyment, in the midst of busy, active, troublous life, of one
calm day's angling by the side of a fair stream, with quiet beauty all
around us, and no adversary but the speckled trout."
"And why should they be your foes?" asked Edith. "Why should you drag
them from their cool, clear element to pant and die in the dry upper
air?"
"'Cause we want to eat? em," said a voice from the door behind her;
"they eats everything. Why shou'dn't we eat them? Darn this world; it
is but a place for eating and being eaten. The bivers that I trap eat
fish, and many a cunning trick the crafty critters use to catch 'em;
the minks eat birds and birds' eggs. Men talk about beasts of prey.
Why, everything is a beast of prey, eating the oxen and the sheep, and
such like; and sometimes I have thought it hard to kill them, who
never do harm to no one, and a great deal of good sometimes. But come,
Master Walter, don't ye keep them fish in the sun. Give 'em to black
Rosie, the cook, and let us have some on 'em for breakfast afore
they're all wilted up."
The man who spoke might have been five feet five or six in height, and
was anything but corpulent. Yet he was in chest and shoulders as broad
as a bull; and though the lower limbs were more lightly formed than
the upper, yet the legs, as well as the arms, displayed strong,
rounded muscles, swelling forth at every movement. His hair was as
black as jet, without the slightest mixture of gray, though he could
not be less than fifty-four or fifty-five years of age; and his face,
which was handsome, with features somewhat eagle-like, was browned by
exposure to a color nearly resembling that of mahogany. With his
shaggy bearskin cap, well worn, and a frock of deerskin, with the hair
on, descending to the knees, he looked more like a bison than anything
human; and, half expecting to hear him roar, the stranger was
surprised to trace tones soft and gentle, though somewhat nasal, to
such a rude and rugged form.
While Walter carried his basket of fish to the kitchen, and Mr.
Prevost's guest was gazing at the newcomer, in whom Edith seemed to
recognize an acquaintance, the master of the house himself approached
from behind the latter, saying as he came. "Let me make you acquainted
with Mr. Brooks, Major Kielmansegge--Captain Jack Brooks."
"Pooh, pooh, Prevost!" exclaimed the other. "Call me by my right name.
I was Captain Brooks long agone. I'm new christened, and called
Woodchuck now. That's because I burrow, Major. Them Ingians are
wonderful circumdiferous; but they have found that when they try
tricks with me, I can burrow under them; and so they call me
Woodchuck, 'cause it's a burrowing sort of a beast."
"I do not exactly understand you," said the gentleman who had been
called Major Kielmansegge. "What is the exact meaning of
circumdiferous?"
"It means just circumventing like," answered the Woodchuck. "First and
foremost, there's many of the Ingians--the Algonquin, for a
sample--never tell a word of truth. No, no, not they. One of them told
me so plainly one day. 'Woodchuck,' says he, 'Ingian seldom tell
truth. He know better than that. Truth too good a thing to be used
every day; keep that for time of need.' I believe at that precious
moment he spoke the truth the first time for forty years."
The announcement that breakfast was ready interrupted the explanation
of Captain Brooks, but seemed to afford him great satisfaction, and at
the meal, certainly, he ate more than all the rest of the party put
together, consuming everything set before him with a voracity truly
marvelous. He seemed to think some apology necessary, indeed, for his
furious appetite. "You see, Major," he said, as soon as he could bring
himself to a pause sufficiently long to utter a sentence, "I eat well
when I do eat; for sometimes I eat nothing for four or five days
together. When I get to a lodge like this, I take in stores for my
next voyage, as I can't tell what port I shall touch at again."
"Pray, do you anticipate a long cruise just now?" asked the stranger.
"No! no!" said the other, laughing; "but I always prepare against the
worst. I am just going up the Mohawk for a step or two to make a trade
with some of my friends of the Five Nations--the Iroquois, as the
French folks call them. But I shall trot up afterward to Sandy Hill
and Fort Lyman to see what is to be done there in the way of business.
Fort Lyman I call it still, though it should be Fort Edward, for after
the brush with Dieskau it has changed its name. Aye, that was a sharp
affair, Major. You'd ha' liked to bin there, I guess."
"Were you there, Captain?" asked Mr. Prevost. "I did not know you had
seen so much service."
"There I was," answered Woodchuck, with a laugh; "though, as to
service, I did more than I was paid for, seeing I had no commission.
I'll tell you how it was, Prevost. Just in the beginning of
September--the seventh or eighth, I think--of the year afore last,
that is, seventeen fifty-five, I was going up to the head of the lake
to see if I could not get some paltry, for I had been unlucky down
westward, and had made a bargain in Albany that I did not like to
break. Just at the top of the hill, near where the King's road comes
down to the ford, who should I stumble upon amongst the trees but old
Hendrick, as they call him--why, I can't tell--the sachem of the
Tortoise totem of the Mohawks. He was there with three young men at
his feet; but we were always good friends, he and I, and over and
above, I carried the calumet, so there was no danger. Well, we sat
down, and he told me that the General, that is, Sir William as is now,
had dug up the tomahawk, and was encamped near Fort Lyman, to give
battle to You-non-de-yok; that is to say, in their jargon, the French
governor. He told me, too, that he was on his way to join the General,
but that he did not intend to fight, but only to witness the brave
deeds of the Corlear men; that is to say, the English. He was a
cunning old fox, old Hendrick, and I fancied from that he thought we
should be defeated. But when I asked him, he said, no; that it was all
on account of a dream he had had, forbidding him to fight on the
penalty of his scalp. So I told him I was minded to go with him and
see the fun. Well, we mustered before the sun was quite down well nigh
upon three hundred Mohawks, all beautifully painted and feathered; but
they all told me they had not sung their war song, nor danced their
war dance before they left their lodges, so I could see well enough
that they had no intention to fight, and the tarnation devil wouldn't
make 'em. However, we got to the camp, where they were all busy
throwing up breastworks, and we heard that Dieskau was coming down
from Hunter's in force. The next morning we heard that he had turned
back again from Fort Lyman, and Johnson sent out Williams with seven
or eight hundred men to get hold of his haunches. I tried hard to get
old Hendrick to go along, for I stuck fast by my Ingians, knowing the
brutes can be serviceable when you trust them. But the sachem only
grunted, and did not stir. In an hour and a half we heard a mighty
large rattle of muskets, and the Ingians could not stand the sound
quietly, but began looking at their rifle flints and fingering their
tomahawks. However, they did not stir, and old Hendrick sat as grave
and as brown as an old hemlock stump. Then we saw another party go out
of camp to help the first; but in a very few minutes they came running
back with Dieskau at their heels. In they tumbled over the breastworks
head over heels--anyhow; and a pretty little considerable quantity of
fright brought they with them. If Dieskau had charged straight on that
minute, we should have all been smashed to everlasting flinders, and I
don't doubt no more than that a bear's a critter that Hendrick and his
painted devils would have had as many English scalps as French ones.
But the old coon of a Garman halted up short some two hundred yards
off, and Johnson did not give him much time to look about him, for he
poured all the cannon shot he had got into him as hard as he could
pelt. Well, the French Ingians, and there was a mighty sight of them,
did not like that game of ball, and they squattered off to the right
and left, some into the trees and some into the swamps; and I could
stand it no longer, but up with my rifle and give them all I had to
give; and old Hendrick, seeing how things were likely to go, took to
the right end, too, but a little too fast, for the old devil came into
him, and he must needs have scalps. So out he went with the rest, and
just as he had got his forefinger in the hair of a young Frenchman,
whiz came a bullet into his dirty red skin, and down he went like an
old moose. Some twenty of his Ingians got shot, too; but, in the end,
Dieskau had to run. Johnson was wounded, too; and them folks have
since said that he had no right to the honor of the battle, but that
it was Lyman, who took the command when he could fight no longer. But
that's all trash! Dieskau had missed his chance, and all his
irregulars were sent skimming by the first fire long before Johnson
was hit. Lyman had nothing to do but hold what Johnson left him, and
pursue the enemy. The first he did well enough, but the second he
forgot to do, though he was a brave man and a good soldier, for all
that."
This little narrative seemed to give matter for thought both to Mr.
Prevost and his English guest, who, after a moment or two of somewhat
gloomy consideration, asked the narrator whether the friendly Indians
had on that occasion received any special offence to account for their
unwillingness to give active assistance to their allies, or whether
their indifference proceeded merely from a fickle or treacherous
disposition.
"Somewhat of both," replied Captain Brooks; and after leaning his
great, broad forehead on his hand for a moment or two in deep thought,
he proceeded to give his views of the relations of the colonies with
the Iroquois, in a manner and tone totally different from any he had
used before. They were grave and almost stern; and his language had
few, if any, of the coarse illustrations with which he ordinarily
seasoned his conversation.
"They are a queer people, the Indians," he said, "and not so much
savages as we are inclined to believe them. Sometimes I am ready to
think that in one or two points they are more civilized than
ourselves. They have not got our arts and sciences; and as they have
got no books, one set of them cannot store up the knowledge they gain
in their own time to be added to by every generation of them that
comes after; and we all know that things which are sent down from
mouth to mouth are soon lost or corrupted. But yet they are always
thinking, and they have a calmness and a coolness in their thoughts
that we white men very often want. They are quick enough in action
when once they have determined upon a thing, and for perverseness they
beat all the world; but they take a long time to consider before they
do act, and it is really wonderful how quietly they do consider, and
how steadily they stick in consideration to all their own old notions.
We have not treated them well, sir, and we never did. They have borne
a great deal, and they will bear more still; but yet they feel and
know it, and some day they may make us feel it, too. They have not the
wit to take advantage at present of our divisions, and by joining
together themselves make us feel all their power; for they hate each
other worse than they hate us; but if the same spirit were to take the
whole redmen which got hold of the Five Nations many a long year ago,
and they were to band together against the whites as those Five
Nations did against the other tribes, they'd give us a great deal of
trouble, and though we might thrash them at first, we might teach them
to thrash us in the end. As it is, however, you see there are two sets
of Indians and two sets of white men in this country, each as
different from the other as anything can be. The Indians don't say, as
they ought: The country is ours, and we will fight against all the
whites till we drive them out; but they say: The whites are wiser and
stronger than we are, and we will help those of them who are wisest
and strongest. I don't mean to say they have not got their likings and
dislikings, and that they are not moved by kindness or by being talked
to; for they are great haters and great likers. But still what I have
said is at the bottom of all their friendships with the white men. The
Dutchmen helped the Five Nations, and taught them to believe they were
a strong people. So the Five Nations liked the Dutch, and made
alliance with them. Then came the English, and proved stronger than
the Dutch, and the Five Nations attached themselves to the English.
They have stuck fast to us for a long time, and would not go from us
without cause. If they could help to keep us great and powerful they
would, and I don't think a little adversity would make them turn. But
still to see us whipped and scalped would make them think a good deal;
and they won't stay by a people long they don't respect. They have got
their own notions, too, about faith and want of faith. If you are
quite friendly with them--altogether--out and out, they'll hold fast
enough to their word with you; but a very little turning, or shaking,
or doubting, will make them think themselves free from all
engagements, and then take care of your scalp-lock. If I am quite sure
when I meet an Indian, that, as the good book says, 'My heart is right
with his heart,' that I have never cheated him, or thought of cheating
him; that I have not doubted him, nor do I doubt him, I can lie down
and sleep in his lodge as safe as if I were in the heart of Albany.
But I should not sleep a wink if I knew there was the least little bit
of insincerity in my own heart; for they are as cute as serpents, and
they are not a people to wait for explanations. Put your wit against
theirs at the back of the forest, and you'll get the worst of it."
"But have we cheated or attempted to cheat these poor people?" asked
the stranger.
"Why, the less we say about that the better, Major," replied
Woodchuck, shaking his head. "They have had to bear a great deal; and
now, when the time comes that we look as if we were going to the wall,
perhaps they may remember it."
"But I hope and trust we are not exactly going to the wall," said the
other, with his color somewhat heightened. "There has been a great
deal said in England about mismanagement of our affairs on this
continent; but I have always thought, being no very violent politician
myself, that party spirit dictated criticisms which were probably
unjust."
"There has been mismanagement enough, Major," replied Captain Brooks;
"hasn't there, Prevost?"
"I fear so, indeed," replied his host, with a sigh; "but quite as much
on the part of the colonial authorities as on that of the government
at home."
"And whose fault is that?" asked the other, somewhat warmly. "Why,
that of the government at home, too. Why do they appoint incompetent
men? Why do they appoint ignorant men? Why do they exclude from every
office of honor, profit, trust, or emolument, the good men of the
Provinces who know the situation and the wants and the habits of the
Provinces, and put over us men who, if they were the best men in the
world, would be inferior, from want of experience, to our own people,
but who are nothing more than a set of presuming, ignorant, grasping
blood-suckers, who are chosen because they are related to a minister
or a minister's mistress, or perhaps his valet, and whose only object
is to make as much out of us as they can, and then get back again. I
do not say they are all so; but a great many of them are, and that is
an insult and an injury to us."
He spoke evidently with a good deal of heat; but his feelings were
those of a vast multitude of the American colonists, and those
feelings were preparing the way for a great revolution.
"Come, come, Woodchuck!" exclaimed Walter Prevost, with a laugh, "you
are growing warm; and when you are angry you bite. The Major wants to
hear your notions of the state of the English power here, and not your
censure of the King's government."
"God bless King George!" cried the other, warmly, "and send him all
prosperity. There's not a more loyal man in the land than I am; but it
vexes me all the more to see his ministers throwing away his people's
hearts and losing his possessions into the bargain. But I'll tell you
how it is, Major--at least how I think it is--and then you'll see. But
I must go back a bit. Here are we, the English, in the middle of this
North America; and we have got the French on both sides of us. Well,
we have a right to the country all across the continent--and we must
have it, for it is our only safety. But the French don't want us to be
safe, and so they are trying to get behind us and push us into the
sea. They have been trying it a long time, and we have taken no
notice. They have pushed their posts from Canada right along by the
Wabash and the Ohio from Lake Erie to the Mississippi, and they have
built forts, and won over Ingians, drawing a string round us, which
they will tighten every day unless we act. And what have the ministers
been doing all the time? Why, for a long time they did nothing at all.
First, the French were suffered boldly to call the country their own,
and to carry our traders and trappers and send them into Canada; and
never a word said by our people. Then they built fort after fort, till
troops can march, and goods can go, with little or no trouble, from
Quebec to New Orleans; and all that this produced was a speech from
Governor Hamilton and a message from Governor Dinwiddie. The last
indeed sent to England and made representation; but all he got was an
order to repel force by force if he could, but to be quite sure that
he did so on the _undoubted_ territories of King George. Undoubted!
Why, the French made the doubt, and then took advantage of it.
Dinwiddie, however, had some spirit, and with what help he could get,
he began to build a fort himself in the best chosen spot of the whole
country, just by the meeting of the Ohio and the Monongahela. But he
had only one man to the French ten, and not a regular company amongst
them. So the French marched with a thousand soldiers and plenty of
cannon and stores, turned his people out, took possession of his half
finished fort and completed it themselves. That was not likely to make
the Ingians respect us. Well, then Colonel Washington, the Virginian,
and the best man in the land, built Fort Necessity; but they left him
without forces to defend it, and he was obliged to surrender to
Villiers and a force big enough to eat him up. That did not raise us
with our redskins, and a French force never moved without a whole herd
of Ingians, supposed to be in friendship with us, but ready to scalp
us when we were defeated. Then came Braddock's mad march upon Fort Du
Quesne, where he and almost all who were with him were killed by a
handful of Ingians amongst the bushes--fifteen hundred men dispersed,
killed and scalped by not four hundred savages--all the artillery
taken and baggage beyond count--think of that! Then Shirley made a
great parade of marching against Fort Niagara, but he turned back
almost as soon as he set out; and had it not been for some good luck
on the north side of Massachusetts Bay, and the victory of Johnson
over Dieskau, you would not have had a tribe to hold fast to us. They
were all wavering as fast as they could. I could see it as plain as
possible from old Hendrick's talk; and the French Jesuits were in
amongst them day and night to bring the Five Nations over. This was
the year afore last. Well, what did they do last year? Nothing at all
but lose Oswego. Lord Loudon and Abercrombie and Webb marched and
countermarched and consulted and played the fool, while Montcalm was
besieging Mercer, taking Oswego, breaking the terms he had expressly
granted, and suffering his Ingians to scalp and torture his prisoners
of war before his eyes. Well, this was just about the middle of
August, but it was judged too late to do anything that year, and
nothing was done. There was merry work in Albany, and people danced
and sang; but the Ingians got a strange notion that the English lion
was better at roaring than he was at biting. And now, Major, what have
we done this year to make up for the blunders of the last five or six?
Why, Lord Loudon stripped the whole of this province of its men and
guns to go to Halifax and attack Louisburg. When he got to Halifax he
exercised his men for a month, heard a false report that Louisburg was
too strong and too well prepared to be taken, and sailed back to New
York. In the meantime, Montcalm took Fort William Henry, on Lake
George, and, as usual, let the garrison be butchered by the Ingians.
So now the redskins see the English arms contemptible on every part of
this continent, and the French complete masters of the lakes and the
whole western country. The Five Nations see their Long House open to
our enemies on three sides, and not a step taken to give them
assistance or protection. We have abandoned them; can you expect them
not to abandon us?"
The young officer, long before this painful question was asked, had
leaned his elbow on the table and covered his eyes and part of his
face with his hand. Walter and Edith both gazed at him earnestly,
while their father bent his eyes gloomily down on the table--all three
sympathizing with the feelings of a British officer while listening to
such a detail. The expression they could not see, but the fine-cut ear
appearing from beneath the curls of his hair glowed like fire before
the speaker finished.
He did not answer, however, for more than a moment; but then raising
his head, with a look of stern gravity he replied: "I cannot expect
it. I cannot even understand how they have remained attached to us so
long and so much."
"The influence of one man has done a great deal," replied Mr. Prevost.
"Sir William Johnson is what is called the Indian agent, and whatever
may be thought of his military ability, there can be no doubt that the
Iroquois trust him, and love him more than they have ever trusted or
loved a white man before. He is invariably just toward them; he always
keeps his word with them; he never yields to importunity, or refuses
to listen to reason; and he places that implicit confidence in them
which enlists everything that is noble in the Indian character in his
favor. Thus in his presence and in their dealings with him, they are
quite a different people from what they are with others--all their
fine qualities are brought into action, and all their wild passions
are stilled."
"I should like to see them as they really are," said the young
officer, eagerly; and then, turning to Woodchuck, he said: "You tell
me you are going amongst them, my friend. Can you not take me with
you?"
"Wait three days, and I will," replied the other. "I am first going up
the Mohawk, as I told you, close by Sir William's castle and hall, as
he calls the places. You'd see little there; but if you will promise
to do just as I tell you, and take advice, I'll take you up to Sandy
Hill and the creek, where you'll see enough of them. That will be
arter I come back on Friday about noon."
Mr. Prevost looked at the young officer, and he at his entertainer,
and then the former asked: "When will you bring him back, Captain? He
must be here again by next Tuesday night."
"That he shall be, with or without his scalp," answered Woodchuck,
with a laugh. "You get him ready to go; for you know, Prevost, the
forest is not the parade ground."
"I will lend him my Gakaah and Giseha and Gostoweh," cried Walter. "We
will make him quite an Indian."
"No! no!" answered Woodchuck. "That won't do, Walter. The man who
tries to please an Ingian by acting like an Ingian, makes nought of
it. They know it's a cheat, and they don't like it. We have our ways,
they have theirs; and let each keep his own, like honest men. So I
think, and so the Ingians think. Putting on a lion's skin will never
make a man a lion. Get him some good, tough leggings, and a coat that
won't tear, a rifle, and an axe, and a wood-knife--a bottle of brandy
is no bad thing. But don't forget a calumet and a bunch of tobacco,
for both may be needful. So now good-bye t'ye all. I must trot."
Thus saying, he rose from the table, and without more ceremonious
adieu, left the room.
CHAPTER IV
When Brooks had left them, half an hour was spent in one of those
pleasant after-breakfast dreams, when the mind seems to take a
moment's hesitating pause before grappling with the active business of
the day. But little was said; each gazed forth from window or from
door; each thought perhaps of the other, and each drank in sweet
sensations from the scene before the eyes.
Each thought of the other, I have said; and when such is the case, how
infinite are the varieties into which thought moulds itself. Walter
paused and pondered upon the stranger's state and objects--asked
himself who he was, what could be his errand--how--why he came
thither? Major Kielmansegge he knew him not to be. A chance word had
shown him not only his rank and station, but shown also that there was
a secret to be kept--a secret to which perhaps his imagination lent
more importance than it deserved. He was an English peer, the young
man knew, one of a rank with which in former years he had been
accustomed to mingle, and for which, notwithstanding all that had
passed, and lapse of time and varied circumstances, he retained an
habitual veneration. But what could have led a British peer to that
secluded spot? What could be the circumstances which, having led him
thither, had suddenly changed his purpose of proceeding onward, and
induced him to remain a guest in his father's cottage in a state of
half-concealment? Could it be Lord Loudon, he asked himself, the
commander-in-chief of the royal forces, whose conduct had been so
severely censured in his own ears by the man just gone?
It was not by accident that Lord H---- and Edith Prevost met there. It
was for the working out of their mutual destiny under the hand of God;
for if there be a God, there is a special providence.
"This is very lovely, Miss Prevost," said the young soldier, when the
long meditative lapse was drawing to a close, "but I should think the
scene would become somewhat monotonous. Hemmed in by these woods, the
country round, though beautiful in itself, must pall upon the taste."
"Oh, no!" cried Edith, eagerly. "It is full of variety. Each day
affords something new, and every morning walk displays a thousand
fresh beauties. Let us go and take a ramble, if you have nothing
better to do; and I will show you there is no monotony. Come, Walter,
take your rifle, and go with us. Father, this is not your hour. Can
you never come before the sun has passed his height and see the
shadows fall the other way?"
"Mine is the evening hour, my child," answered Mr. Prevost, somewhat
sadly, "but go, Edith, and show our noble friend the scenes you so
much delight in. He will need something to make his stay in this dull
place somewhat less heavy."
The stranger made no complimentary reply, for his thoughts were busy
with Edith; and he was at that moment comparing her frank,
unconscious, undesigning offer to lead him through love-like woods and
glades, with the wily hesitation of a court coquette.
"Perhaps you are not disposed to walk," said Edith, marking his
reverie, and startling him from it.
"I shall be delighted," he said, eagerly, and truly, too. "You must
forgive me for being somewhat absent, Miss Prevost. Your father knows
I have much to think of, though indeed thought at present is vain; and
you will confer a boon by banishing that idle but importunate
companion."
"Oh, then, you shall not think at all when you are with me," said
Edith, smiling, and away she ran to cover her head with one of those
black wimples very generally worn by the women of that day.
Beyond the cultivated ground, as you descended the gentle hill, lay
the deep forest at the distance of some three hundred yards, and at
its edge Edith paused and made her companion turn to see how beautiful
the cottage looked upon its eminence, shaded by gorgeous maple trees
in their gold and crimson garb of autumn, with a tall rock or two of
gray and mossy stone rising up amidst them.
Lord H---- gazed at the house and saw that it was picturesque and
beautiful--very different indeed from any other dwelling he had seen
on the western side of the Atlantic; but there was absent
thoughtfulness in his eyes, and Edith thought he did not admire it
half enough.
"How strange are men's prejudices and prepossessions," said Lord
H----, as they paused to gaze at a spot where a large extent of low
woodland lay open to the eye below them. "We are incredulous of
everything we have not seen, or to the conception of which we have not
been led by very near approaches. Had anyone shown me, ere I reached
these shores, a picture of an autumn scene in America, though it had
been perfect as a portrait, hue for hue, or even inferior, in its
striking coloring, to the reality, I should have laughed at it as a
most extravagant exaggeration. Did not the first autumn you passed
here make you think yourself in fairyland?"
"No; I was prepared for it," replied Edith. "My father had described
the autumn scenery to me often before we came."
"Then was he ever in America before he came to settle?" asked her
companion.
"Yes, once," answered Edith. She spoke in a very grave tone, and then
ceased suddenly.
But her brother took the subject up with a boy's frankness, saying:
"Did you never hear that my grandfather and my father's sister died in
Virginia? He was in command there, and my father came over just before
my birth."
"It is a long story and a sad one, my lord," said Edith, with a sigh;
"but look now as we mount the hill, and see how the scene changes.
Every step upon the hillside gives us a different sort of tree, and
the brush disappears from amidst the trunks. This grove is my favorite
evening seat, where I can read and think under the broad, shady
boughs, with nothing but beautiful sights around me."
"Truly, this is an enchanting scene. It wants, methinks, but the
figure of an Indian in the foreground; and there comes one, I fancy,
to fill up the picture--stay! stay! We shall want no rifles! It is but
a woman coming through the trees."
"It is Otaitsa--it is the Blossom!" cried Edith and Walter in a
breath, as they looked forward to a spot where across the yellow
sunshine as it streamed through the trees, a female figure, clad in
the gaily embroidered and bright-colored _gakaah_, or petticoat, of
the Indian women, was seen advancing with a rapid yet somewhat
doubtful step. Edith, without pause or hesitation, sprang forward to
meet the newcomer, and in a moment after the beautiful arms of the
Indian girl who had sat with Walter in the morning were round the fair
form of his sister, and her lips pressed on hers. There was a warmth
and eagerness in their meeting unusual on the part of the red race;
but while the young Oneida almost lay upon the bosom of her white
friend, her beautiful dark eyes were turned toward her lover, as with
a mixture of the bashful feelings of youth and the consciousness of
having something to conceal, Walter, with a glowing cheek, lingered a
step or two behind his sister.
"Art thou coming to our lodge, dear Blossom?" asked Edith; and then
added, "Where is thy father?"
"We both come," answered the girl, in pure English, with no more of
the Indian accent than served to give a peculiar softness to her
tones. "I wait the Black Eagle here since dawn of day. He has gone
toward the morning with our father the White Heron; for we heard of
Hurons by the side of Corlear, and some thought the hatchet would be
unburied. So he journeyed to hear more from our friends by Horicon,
and bade me stay and tell you and your brother Walter to forbear that
road if I saw you turn your eyes toward the east wind. He and the
White Heron will be by your father's council fire with the first
star."
A good deal of this speech was unintelligible to Lord H----, who had
now approached, and on whom Blossom's eyes were turned with a sort of
timid and inquiring look. But Walter hastened to interpret, saying:
"She means that her father and the missionary, Mr. Gore, have heard
that there are hostile Indians on the shores of Lake Champlain, and
have gone down toward Lake George to inquire; for Black Eagle--that is
her father--is much our friend, and he always fancies that my father
has chosen a dangerous situation here, just at the verge of the
territory of the Five Nations, or their Long House, as they call it."
"Well, come to the lodge with us, dear Blossom," said Edith, while her
brother was giving this explanation. "You know my father loves you
well, and will be glad to have the Blossom with us. Here, too, is an
English chief dwelling with us, who knows not what sweet blossoms grow
on Indian trees."
But the girl shook her head, saying: "Nay; I must do the father's
will. It was with much praying that he let me come hither with him;
and he bade me stay here from the white rock to the stream. So must I
obey."
"But it may be dangerous," replied Edith, "if there be Hurons so near;
and it is sadly solitary, dear sister."
"Then stay with me for a while," said the girl, who would not affect
to deny that her lonely watch was somewhat gloomy.
"I will stay with her and protect her," cried Walter, eagerly; "but,
dearest Blossom, if we should see danger, you must fly to the lodge."
"Yes, stay with her, Walter--oh, yes, stay with her," said the
unconscious Edith; and so it was settled, for Otaitsa made no
opposition, though with a cheek in which something glowed through the
brown, and with a lip that curled gently with a meaning smile, she
asked: "Perhaps my brother Walter would be elsewhere? He may find a
long watch wearisome on the hill and in the wood."
"Let us stay a while ourselves," said Lord H----, seating himself on
the grass and gazing forth with a look of interest over the prospect.
"Methinks this is a place where one may well dream away an hour
without the busiest mind reproaching itself for inactivity."
For two hours the four sat there on the hillside, beneath the tall,
shady trees, with the wind breathing softly upon them, the lake
glittering before their eyes, the murmur of the waterfall sending
music through the air. But to the young Englishman these were but
accessories. The fair face of Edith was before his eyes, the melody of
her voice in his ears.
At length, however, they rose to go, promising to send one of the
slaves from the house with food for Walter and Otaitsa at the hour of
noon; and Lord H---- and his fair companion took their way back toward
the house. The distance was not very far, but they were somewhat long
upon the way. They walked slowly back, and by a different path from
that by which they went; and often they stopped to admire some
pleasant scene; and often Lord H---- had to assist his fair companion
over some rock, and her soft hand rested in his. He gathered for her
flowers--the fringed gentian and other late blossoms, and they paused
to examine them closely and comment on their loveliness; and once he
made her sit down beside him on a bank and tell him the names of all
the different trees; and from trees his conversation went on into
strange, dreamy, indefinite talk of human beings and human hearts.
Thus noon was not far distant when they reached the house, and both
Edith and her companion were very thoughtful.
Edith was meditative through the rest of the day. Was it of herself
she thought? Was it of him who had been her companion through the
greater part of the morning?
There had been no word spoken; there had been no sign given; there had
been no intimation to make the seal tremble on the fountain, but the
master of its destiny was near. She had had a pleasant ramble with one
such as she seldom saw--and that was all.
There had been something that day in the manner of her brother Walter,
a hesitation, and yet an eagerness, a timidity unnatural, with a
warmth that spoke of passion, which had not escaped her eye. In the
sweet Indian girl, too, she had seen signs not equivocal: the
fluttering blush, the look full of soul and feeling; the glance
suddenly raised to the boy's face and suddenly withdrawn; the eyes
full of liquid light, now beaming brightly under sudden emotion, now
shaded beneath the long fringe like the moon beneath a passing cloud.
For the first time it seemed to her that a dark, impenetrable curtain
was falling between herself and all the ancient things of history;
that all indeed was to be new, and strange, and different; and yet she
loved Otaitsa well, and had in the last two years seen many a trait
which had won esteem as well as love. The old Black Eagle, as her
father was called, had ever been a fast and faithful ally of the
English; but to Mr. Prevost he had attached himself in a particular
manner. An accidental journey on the part of the old sachem had first
brought them acquainted, and from that day forward the distance of the
Oneida settlement was no impediment to their meeting. Whenever the
Black Eagle left his lodge he was sure, in his own figurative
language, to wing his flight sooner or later toward the nest of his
white brother; and in despite of Indian habits, he almost invariably
brought his daughter with him. When any distance or perilous
enterprise was on hand, Otaitsa was left at the lodge of the English
family, and many a week had she passed there at a time, loved by and
loving all its inmates. It was not there, however, that she had
acquired her perfect knowledge of the English language, or the other
characteristics which distinguished her from the ordinary Indian
women. When she first appeared there she spoke the language of the
settlers as perfectly as they did, and it was soon discovered that
from infancy she had been under the care and instruction of one of the
English missionaries--at that time, alas! few--who had sacrificed all
that civilized life could bestow for the purpose of bringing the
Indian savages into the fold of Christ.
Mr. Prevost judged it quite right that Walter should stay with
Otaitsa, and he even sent out the old slave Agrippa, who somehow was
famous as a marksman, with a rifle on his shoulder, to act as a sort
of scout upon the hillside, and watch anything bearing a hostile
aspect.
After dinner, too, he walked out himself, and sat for an hour with his
son and the Indian girl, speaking words of affection to her that sunk
deep into her heart, and more than once brought drops into her bright
eyes. No father's tenderness could exceed that he showed her, and
Otaitsa felt as if he were almost welcoming her as a daughter.
Evening had not lost its light when a shout from Walter's voice
announced that he was drawing nigh the house, and in a moment after he
was coming across the cleared land with his bright young companion and
two other persons. One was a tall redman, upward of six feet in
height, dressed completely in the Indian garb, but without paint. He
could not have been less than sixty years of age, but his strong
muscles seemed to have set at defiance the bending power of time. He
was as upright as a pine, and he bore his heavy rifle in his right
hand as lightly as if it had been a reed. In his left he carried a
long pipe, showing that his errand was one of peace, though in his
belt were a tomahawk and a scalping knife; and he wore the sort of
feather crown, or _gostoweh_, distinguishing the chief. The other man
might be of the same age, or a little older. He, too, seemed active
and strong for his years, but he wanted the erect and powerful bearing
of the other, and his gait and carriage, as much as his features and
complexion, distinguished him from the Indian. His dress was a strange
mixture of ordinary European costume and that of the half-savage
rangers of the forest. He wore a black coat, or one that had once been
black, but the rest of his garments were composed of skins, some
tanned into red leather, after the Indian fashion, some with the hair
still on and turned outward. He bore no arms whatever, unless a very
long, sharp-pointed knife could be considered a weapon, though in his
hands it only served the unusual service of dividing his food or
carving willow whistles for the children of the sachem's tribe.
Running with a light foot by the side of the chief, as he strode
along, came Otaitsa; but all the others followed the Indian fashion,
coming after him in single file, while old Agrippa, with his rifle on
his arm, brought up the rear, appearing from the wood somewhat behind
the rest.
"It is seldom I have so many parties of guests in two short days,"
said Mr. Prevost, moving toward the door. "Generally I have either a
whole tribe at once, or none at all. But this is one of my best
friends, my lord, and I must go to welcome him."
"He is a noble-looking man," said the young officer, following. "This
is the Black Eagle, I suppose, whom the pretty maiden talked of?"
Mr. Prevost made no reply, for by this time the chief's long strides
had brought him almost to the door, and his hand was already extended
to grasp that of his white friend.
"Welcome, Black Eagle!" said Mr. Prevost.
"Thou art my brother," said the chief in English, but of a much less
pure character than that of his daughter.
"What news from Corlear?" asked Mr. Prevost.
But the Indian answered not; and the man who followed him replied in
so peculiar a style that we must give his words, although they
imported very little as far as the events to be related are concerned.
"All is still on the banks of Champlain Lake," he said; "but Huron
tracks are still upon the shore. The friendly Mohawks watched them
come and go, and tell us that the Frenchman, too, was there, painted
and feathered like the Indian chiefs; but finding England stronger
than they thought, upon the side of Horicon, they sailed back to Fort
Carrillon on Monday last."
For an instant Lord H---- was completely puzzled to discover what it
was that gave such peculiarity to the missionary's language; for the
words and accent were those of an ordinary Englishman of no very
superior education; and it was not until Mr. Gore had uttered one or
two sentences more that he perceived that what he said often arranged
itself into a sort of blank verse, not very poetical, not very
musical, even, but scanable easily enough.
In the meanwhile the Black Eagle and his host had entered the house
and proceeded straight to the great eating-hall, where the whole party
seated themselves in silence, Otaitsa taking her place close to the
side of Edith, while Walter stationed himself where he could watch the
bright girl's eyes without being remarked himself.
For a moment or two no one spoke, in deference to the Indian habits,
and then Mr. Prevost broke silence, saying: "Well, Black Eagle, how
fares it with my brother?"
"As with the tamarac in the autumn," answered the warrior, "the cold
wind sighs through the branches and the fine leaves wither and fall,
but the branch stands firm, as yet, and decay has not reached the
heart."
"This is a chief from the land of my white fathers," said Mr. Prevost,
waving his hand gracefully toward Lord H----. "He has but lately
crossed the great water."
"He is welcome to what was once the redman's land," said Black Eagle,
and bending his eyes upon the ground, but without any sign of emotion
at the thoughts which seemed to be beneath his words, he lapsed into
silence for a minute or two. Then raising his head again, he asked:
"Is he a great chief? Is he a warrior, or a man of council, or a
medicine man?"
"He is a great chief and a warrior," answered Mr. Prevost. "He is,
moreover, skilled in council, and his words are clear as the waters of
Horicon."
"He is welcome," repeated the chief. "He is our brother. He shall be
called the Cataract, because he shall be powerful, and many shall
rejoice at the sound of a calm voice. But, my brother----"
"Speak on," said Mr. Prevost, seeing that he paused. "They are
friendly ears that listen."
"Thou art too near the Catarqui, thou art too near to Corlear," said
the warrior, meaning the river St. Lawrence and Lake Champlain. "There
is danger for our brother, and the wings of the Black Eagle droop when
he is in his solitary place afar midst the children of the Stone, to
think that thou art not farther within the walls of the Long House."
"What does he mean by the walls of the Long House?" asked Lord
H---- in a whisper, addressing Edith.
"Merely the territory of the Five Nations, or Iroquois, as the French
call them," answered his fair companion.
"I fear not, brother," replied Mr. Prevost. "The fire and the iron
have not met to make the tomahawk which shall reach my head."
"But for the maiden's sake," said Black Eagle. "Is she not unto us as
a daughter? Is she not the sister of Otaitsa? I pray thee, White Pine
Tree, let her go with the Eagle and the Blossom into the land of the
children of the Stone but for a few moons, till thy people have
triumphed over their enemies, and till the Five Nations have hewed
down the trees of the Huron and the Algonquin; till the war hatchet is
buried and the pipe of peace is smoked."
"'Twere better, truly, my good friend Prevost," said Mr. Gore. "We
have seen sights to-day would make the blood of the most bold and
hardy man on earth turn cold and icy, to behold, and know he had a
daughter near such scenes of death."
"What were they, my good friend?" asked Mr. Prevost "I have heard of
nothing very new or near. The last was the capture of Fort William
Henry, some six weeks since; but as yet we have not heard the whole
particulars, and surely, if we are far enough away for the tidings not
to reach us in six weeks, it is not likely that hostile armies would
approach us very soon."
"Thou art deceived, my brother," answered Black Eagle. "One short
day's journey lies betwixt thee and the battlefield. This morning we
crossed when the sun wanted half an hour of noon, and we are here
before he has gone down behind the forest. What we saw chilled the
blood of my brother here, for he has not seen such things before. The
children of Stone slay not women and children when the battle is
over."
"Speak! speak! my good friend, Mr. Gore!" said the master of the
house. "You know our habits better, and can tell us more of what has
happened. Things which are common to his eye must be strange to
yours."
"We passed the ground between the one fort and the other," answered
the missionary. "The distance is but seven or eight miles; and in that
short space lay well nigh a thousand human bodies, slain by every dark
and terrible means of death. There were young and old: the gray-headed
officer, the blooming youth, fresh from his mother's side; women and
boys and girls, and little infants snatched from the mother's breast,
to die by the hatchet or the war club. We heard the tiger Montcalm, in
violation of his given word, in defiance of humanity, Christianity,
and the spirit of a gentleman, stood by and saw his own convention
broken, and gallant enemies massacred by his savage allies. But what
the chief says is very true, my friend. You are far too near this
scene; and although, perhaps, no regular army could reach this place
ere you received timely warning, yet the Indian forerunners may be
upon you at any moment, your house in flames, and you and your
children massacred ere anyone could come to give you aid. The troops
of our country are far away, and no force is between you and Horicon
but a small body of our Mohawk brethren, who are not as well pleased
with England as they have been."
Mr. Prevost turned his eyes toward Lord H----, and the young
Englishman replied to Mr. Gore at once, saying, with a quiet
inclination of the head: "On one point you are mistaken, sir. Lord
London has returned, and there is now a strong force at Albany. I
passed through that city lately, and I think that by the facts which
must have come to his knowledge, General Montcalm will be deterred
from pushing his brutal incursions further this year, at least. Before
another shines upon him he may receive some punishment for his
faithless cruelty."
"If not here, hereafter," said the missionary. "There is justice in
heaven, sir, and often it visits the evil-doer upon earth. That man's
end cannot be happy. But I fear you will not give us aid in persuading
our friend here to abandon for a time his very dangerous position."
"I know too little of Mr. Prevost's affairs," replied Lord H----, "to
advise either for or against. I know still less of the state of the
country between this and the French line. Perhaps in a day or two I
may know more; and then, as a military man myself, I can better tell
him what are the real dangers of his situation. At all events, I
should like to think over the matter till to-morrow morning before I
offer an opinion. From what was said just now, I infer that the Hurons
and the French having gone back, there can be no immediate peril."
Mr. Gore shook his head, and the Indian chief remained in profound and
somewhat dull silence, seeming not very well pleased with the result
of the discussion. A few minutes after the evening meal was brought
in, and to it, at least, the Black Eagle did ample justice, eating
like a European, with a knife and fork, and displaying no trace of the
savage in his demeanor at the table. He remained profoundly silent,
however, till the party rose, and then, taking Mr. Prevost's hand, he
said: "Take counsel of thine own heart, my brother. Think of the
flower that grows up by thy side; ask if thou wouldst have it trodden
down by the redman's moccasin, and listen not to the Cataract, for it
is cold."
Thus saying, he unrolled one of the large skins which lay at the side
of the room, and stretched himself upon it to take repose.
Edith took Otaitsa by the hand, saying, "Come, Blossom, you shall be
my companion as before;" and Walter retiring the moment after, left
Lord H---- and his host to consult together with Mr. Gore.
CHAPTER V
One hour after the sun had risen again, three travelers took their way
onward from the house of Mr. Prevost, along a path which led to the
northeast.
Two other persons watched them from the door of the house, and two
negro men and a negro woman gazed after them from the corner of the
building which joined on to a low fence encircling the stable and
poultry yard, and running on round the well cultivated kitchen garden.
The negro woman shook her head, and looked sorrowful, and sighed, but
said nothing. The two men talked freely of the imprudence of "Master"
in suffering his son to go upon such an expedition.
Mr. Prevost and his daughter gazed in silence till the receding
figures were hidden by the trees. Then the master of the house led
Edith back, saying: "God will protect him, my child. A parent was not
given to crush the energies of youth, but to direct them."
In the meanwhile, Lord H---- and his guide, Captain Brooks, according
to his English name, or Woodchuck, in the Indian parlance, followed by
Walter Prevost, made their way rapidly and easily through the wood.
The two former were dressed in the somewhat anomalous attire which I
have described in first introducing the worthy Captain to the reader;
but Walter was in the ordinary costume of the people of the province
of that day, except inasmuch as he had his rifle in his hand and a
large leathern wallet slung over his left shoulder. Each of his
companions, too, had a rifle hung across the back by a broad leathern
band; and each was furnished with a hatchet at his girdle, and a long
pipe, with a curiously carved stem, in his hand.
Although they were not pursuing any of the public provincial roads,
and were consequently obliged to walk singly, the one following the
other, yet Woodchuck, who led the way, had no difficulty in finding
it, or in proceeding steadily.
We are told by an old writer of those days, who, unlike many modern
writers, witnessed all he described with his own eyes, that the Indian
trails, or footpaths, were innumerable over that large tract of
country which the Five Nations called their "Long House," crossing and
recrossing each other in every different direction, sometimes almost
lost where the ground was hard and dry, sometimes indenting by the
repeated pressure of many feet, the natural soil to the depth of
thirty-six or forty inches.
It was along one of these that the travelers were passing, and
although a stump here and there, or a young tree springing up in the
midst of a trail, offered an occasional impediment, it was rarely of
such a nature as to retard the travelers in their course, or
materially add to their fatigue.
With the calm assurance and unhesitating rapidity of a practised
woodsman, Brooks led his two companions forward without doubt as to
his course. No great light had he, it is true, for though the sun was
actually above the horizon, and now and then his slanting rays found
their way through some more open space, and gilded the pathway, in
general the thick trees and underwood formed a shade which at that
early hour the light could hardly penetrate, and the sober morning was
to these travelers still dressed almost in the dark hues of night.
"Set your steps in mine," said Woodchuck, speaking in a whisper over
his shoulder to Lord H----, "then we shall be real Indians. Don't you
know that when they go out on the war path, as they call it, each man
puts down his foot just where his leader put down his before? So, come
dog, come cat, no one can tell how many went to Jack Pilberry's barn."
"But do you think there is any real danger?" asked Lord H----.
"There is always danger in a dark wood and a dark eye," answered
Woodchuck, with a laugh, "but no more danger here than in Prevost's
cottage, from either the one or the other, for you or for Walter. As
for me, I am safe anywhere."
"But you are taking strange precautions where there is no danger,"
replied Lord H----, who could not banish all doubts of his wild
companion. "You speak in whispers, and advise us to follow all the
cunning devices of the Indians in a wood which we passed through
fearlessly yesterday."
"I am just as fearless now as you were then, if you passed through
this wood," answered Brooks, in a graver tone, "but you are not a
woodsman, or you'd understand better. What I mean, sir, is that we are
so often in danger, we think it best to act as if we were always in
it; and never knowing how near it may be, to make as sure as we can
that we keep it at a distance. You cannot tell there is not an Indian
in every bush you pass, and yet you'd chatter as loud as if you were
in any lady's drawing-room. But I, though I know there is ne'er a one,
don't speak louder than a grasshopper's hind legs, for fear I would
get into the habit of talking loud in the forest."
"There is some truth, my friend, I believe in what you say," replied
Lord H----, "but I hear a sound growing louder and louder as we
advance. It is the cataract, I suppose."
"Yes, just the waterfall," answered the other, in an indifferent tone.
"Down half a mile below it Master Walter will find the boat that will
take him to Albany. Then you and I can snake up by the side of the
river till we have gone as far as we have a mind to. I shouldn't
wonder if we got a shot at somewhat on four, a moose or a painter, or
a looksevere, or something of that kind. Pity we haven't got a canoe
or a batteau, or something to put our game in."
"In heaven's name, what do you call a looksevere?" asked Lord
H----.
"Why, the French folks call it a loup-cervier," answered Brooks. "I
guess you never saw one. But he is not as pleasant as a pretty maid in
a by-place, is he, Walter? He puts himself up into a tree, and there
he watches, looking full asleep; but with the devil that is in him
moving every joint of his tail the moment he hears anything come
trotting along; and when it is just under him down he drops upon it
plump, like a rifle shot into a pumpkin."
The conversation then fell off into a word or two spoken now and
then, and the voice of the waters grew loud and more loud until Lord
H---- could hardly hear his own footfalls. The more practised ear of
Brooks, however, caught every sound, and at length he exclaimed:
"What's alive? Why are you cocking your rifle, Walter?"
"Hush!" said the lad, "there is something stealing on there, just
behind the bushes. It is an Indian, I think, going on all fours. Look
quietly out there."
"More likely a bear," replied Woodchuck, in the same low tone which
the other had used. "I see--I see. It's not a bear either, but it's
not an Indian. It's gone--no, there it is again. Hold hard--let him
climb. It's a painter. Here, Walter, come up in front--you shall have
him. The cur smells fresh meat. He'll climb in an instant. There he
goes--no, the critter's on again. We shall lose him if we don't mind.
Quick, Walter! Spread out there to the right. I will take the left,
and we shall drive him to the water, where he must climb. You, Major,
keep right on ahead. Mind, take the middle trail all along, and look
up at the branches, or you may have him on your head. There, he's
heading south. Quick, Walter, quick!"
Lord H---- had as yet seen nothing of the object discovered by the
eyes of his two companions, but he had sufficient of the sportsman in
his nature to enter into all their eagerness, and unslinging his rifle
he followed the path or trail along which they had been proceeding,
while Walter Prevost darted away into the tangled bushes on his right,
and Woodchuck stole more quietly in amongst the trees on his left. He
could hear the branches rustle, and for nearly a quarter of a mile
could trace their course on either side of him by the various little
signs--of now a waving branch, now a slight sound. Once, and only
once, he thought he saw the panther cross the trail, but it was at a
spot peculiarly dark, and he did not feel at all sure that fancy had
not deceived him.
The roar of the cataract in the meantime increased each moment, and it
was evident to the young nobleman that he and his companions, on their
different courses, were approaching more and more closely to some
large stream, toward which it was the plan of good Captain Brooks to
force the object of their pursuit. At length, too, the light became
stronger, and he heard the report of a rifle, then a fierce, snarling
sound, and then a shout from Walter Prevost.
Knowing how dangerous the wounded panther is, the young officer,
without hesitation, darted away into the brush to aid Edith's brother,
for by this time it was in that light that he generally thought of
him; and the lad soon heard his approach, and guided him by his voice,
calling, "Here! here!" There was no alarm or agitation in his
tones--they were rather those of triumph; and a moment after, as he
caught sight of his friend coming forward, he added: "He's a splendid
beast. I must have the skin off him."
Lord H---- drew nigh, somewhat relaxing his speed when he found there
was no danger, and in another minute he was by the side of the lad,
who was quietly recharging his rifle, while at some six or seven yards
distance lay a large panther of the American species, mortally
wounded, and quite powerless of evil, but not yet quite dead.
"Keep away from him--keep away!" cried Walter, as the young nobleman
approached. "They sometimes tear on terribly, even at the last gasp."
"Why, he is nearly as big as a tiger," said Lord H----.
"He is a splendid fellow," answered Walter, joyfully. "One might live
a hundred years in England without finding such game."
Lord H---- smiled, and remained for a moment or two, till the young
man's rifle was reloaded, gazing at the beast in silence.
Suddenly, however, they both heard the sound of another rifle on the
left, and Walter exclaimed, "Woodchuck has got one, too!" But the
report was followed by a yell very different from the snarl or growl
of a wounded beast. "That's no panther's cry!" exclaimed Walter
Prevost, his cheek turning somewhat pale. "What can have happened?"
"It sounded like a human voice," said Lord H----, listening, "like
that of someone in sudden agony. I trust our friend the Woodchuck has
not shot himself by some accident."
"It was not a white man's voice," said Walter, bending his ear in the
direction from which had come the sounds. But all was still, and the
young man raised his voice and shouted to his companion.
No answer was returned, however, and Lord H----, exclaiming, "We had
better seek him at once--he may need help!" darted away toward the
spot whence his ear told him the shot had come.
"A little more to the right, my lord, a little more to the right!"
said Walter. "You will hit on a trail in a minute." And raising his
voice again, he shouted: "Woodchuck! Woodchuck!" with evident alarm
and distress.
He was right in the supposition that they should soon find some path.
They quickly struck an Indian trail crossing that on which they had
been previously proceeding, and leading in the direction in which they
wished to go. Both then hurried on with greater rapidity, Walter
rather running than walking, and Lord H---- following, with his rifle
cocked in his hand. They had not far to go, however, for the trail
soon opened upon a small piece of grassy savanna, lying close upon the
river's edge, and in the midst of it they beheld a sight which was
terrible enough in itself, but which afforded less apprehension and
grief to the mind of Lord H---- than to that of Walter Prevost, who
was better acquainted with the Indian habits and character.
About ten yards from the mouth of the path appeared the powerful form
of Captain Brooks, with his folded arms leaning on the muzzle of his
discharged rifle. He was as motionless as a statue, his brow
contracted, his brown cheek very pale, and his eyes bent forward upon
an object lying upon the grass before him. It was the form of a dead
Indian, weltering in his blood. The dead man's head was bare of all
covering except the scalp-lock. He was painted with the war colors,
and in his hand, as he lay, he grasped the tomahawk, as if it had been
raised in the act to strike the moment before he fell. To the eyes of
Lord H---- his tribe or nation was an undiscovered secret, but certain
small signs and marks in his garb, and even in his features, showed
Walter Prevost at once that he was not only one of the Five Nations,
but an Oneida. The full and terrible importance of the fact will be
seen by what followed.
For some two minutes the three living men stood silent in the presence
of the dead, and Walter exclaimed, in a tone of deep grief: "Alas!
Woodchuck, what have you done?"
"Saved my scalp," answered Brooks, sternly, and fell into silence
again.
There was another long silence, and then Lord H----, mistaking in some
degree the causes of the man's strong emotion, laid his hand upon the
hunter's arm, saying: "Come away, my friend. Why should you linger
here?"
"It's no use," answered Woodchuck, gloomily. "He had a woman with him,
and it will soon be known all through the tribe."
"But for your own safety," said Walter, "yon had better fly. It is
very sad indeed--what could make him attack you?"
"An old grudge, Master Walter," answered Brooks, seating himself
deliberately on the ground and laying his rifle across his knee. "I
knew the critter well, the Striped Snake they called him, and a snake
he was. He tried to cheat and to rob me, and I made it plain to the
whole tribe. Some laughed, and thought it fair, but old Black Eagle
scorned and rebuked him, and he has hated me ever since. He has been
long watching for this, and now he has got it."
"Well, well," said Walter, "what's done cannot be undone, and you had
better get away as fast as may be, for Black Eagle told me he had left
three scouts behind to bring tidings in case of danger, and we cannot
tell how near the others may be."
"This was one of them," answered Brooks, still keeping his seat and
gazing at the Indian. "But what is safety to me, Walter? I can no more
roam the forests. I can no more pursue my way of life. I must go into
dull and smoky cities and plod amongst thieving, cheating crowds of
white men. The rifle and the hatchet must be laid aside forever; the
forest grass must know my foot no more. Flowers and green leaves and
rushing streams and the broad lake and the mountain top are lost and
gone, the watch under the deep boughs and by the silent waters. Close
pressed amidst the toiling herd, I shall become sordid and low and
filthy as they are; my free nature lost and gyves upon my spirit. All
life's blessings are gone from me; why should I care for life?"
There was something uncommonly plaintive, mournful and earnest in his
tones, and Lord H---- could not help feeling for him, although he did
not comprehend fully the occasion of his grief. "But, my good friend,"
he said, "I cannot perceive how your having slain this Indian in your
own defence can bring such a train of miseries upon you. You would not
have killed him if he had not attacked you."
"Alas for me! alas for me!" was all the answer the poor man made.
"You do not know their habits, sir," said Walter, in a low voice.
"They must have blood for blood. If he stays here, if he ever returns,
go where he will in the Indian territory, they will track him, they
will follow him day and night. He will be amongst them like one of the
wild beasts whom we chase so eagerly--pursued from place to place with
the hatchet always hanging over his head. There is no safety for him
but far away in the provinces beyond those towns that Indians ever
visit. So persuade him to come away and leave the body. He can go down
with me to Albany, and thence make his way to New York or
Philadelphia."
For some minutes Brooks remained deaf to all arguments. His whole mind
and thoughts seemed occupied with the terrible conviction that the
wild scenes and the free life which he enjoyed so intensely were lost
forever.
Suddenly, however, when Lord H---- was just about to give up in
despair the task of persuading him, he started up as if some new
thought struck him, and gazing first at Walter and then at the young
officer, he exclaimed: "But I am keeping you here, and you, too, may
be murdered! The death spot is upon me, and it will spread to all
around. I am ready to go. I will bear my fate as well as I can, but it
is very, very hard. Come! Let us begone quick--stay! I will charge my
rifle first. Who knows how soon we may need it for such bloody work
again!"
All his energy seemed to have returned in a moment, and it deserted
him not again. He charged his rifle with wonderful rapidity, tossed it
under his arm, and took a step as if to go. Then for a moment he
paused, and advancing close to the dead Indian gazed at him sternly.
"Oh, my enemy," he cried, "thou saidst thou wouldst have revenge, and
thou hast had it--far more bitter than if thy hatchet had entered into
my skull, and I were lying in thy place."
Turning round as soon as he had spoken, he led the way back along the
trail, murmuring rather to himself than to his companions: "The
instinct of self-preservation is very strong. Better for me had I let
him slay me. I know not how I was fool enough to fire. Come, Walter,
we must get round the falls, where we shall find some batteaux that
will carry us down."
He walked along for some five minutes in silence, and suddenly looked
round to Lord H----, exclaiming: "But what's to become of him? How is
he to find his way back again? Come! I will go back with him--it
matters not if they do catch me and scalp me. I do not like to be
dogged and tracked and followed and taken unawares. I can but die at
last. I will go back with him as soon as you are in the boat, Walter."
"No, no, Woodchuck! That will not do!" replied the lad. "You forget
that if they found you with him they would kill him, too. I will tell
you how we will manage it. Let him come down with us to the point,
then there is a straight road up to the house, and we can get one of
the batteaux men to go up with him and show him the way, unless he
likes to go on with me to Albany."
"I cannot do that," replied Lord H----, "for I promised to be back at
your father's house by to-morrow night, and matters of much importance
may have to be decided. But I can easily land at the point, as you
say--whatever point you may mean--and find my way back. As for myself,
I have no fears. There seem to be but a few scattered parties of
Indians of different tribes roaming about, and I trust that anything
like general hostility is at an end for this year at least."
"In Indian warfare the danger is the greatest, I have heard, when it
seems the least," replied Walter Prevost; "but from the point to the
house, some fourteen or sixteen miles, the road is perfectly safe, for
it is the only one on which large numbers of persons are passing to
and from Albany."
"It will be safe enough," said Woodchuck; "that way is always quiet;
and besides, a wise man and a powerful one could travel at any time
from one end of the Long House to the other without risk--unless there
were special cause. It is bad shooting we have had to-day, Walter, but
still I should have liked to have the skin of that panther. He seemed
to me an unextinguishable fine crittur."
"He was a fine creature, and that I know, for I shot him, Woodchuck,"
said Walter Prevost, with some pride in the achievement. "I wanted to
send the skin to Otaitsa--but it cannot be helped."
"Let us go and get it now!" cried Woodchuck, with the ruling passion
strong in death. "'Tis but a step back. Darn those Ingians! Why should
I care?"
But both his companions urged him forward, and they continued their
way through woods skirting the river for somewhat more than two miles,
first rising gently to a spot where the roar of the waters was heard
distinctly, and then, after descending, rising again to a rocky point
midway between the highest ground and the water level, where a small
congregation of huts had been gathered together, principally inhabited
by boatmen, and surrounded by a stout palisade.
The scene at the hamlet itself had nothing very remarkable in it. Here
were women sitting at the door, knitting and sewing, men lounging
about or mending nets or making lines, children playing in the dirt,
as usual, both inside and outside of the palisade. The traces of more
than one nation could be discovered in the features as well as in the
tongues of the inhabitants, and it was not difficult to perceive that
here had been congregated, by the force of circumstances into which it
is not necessary to inquire, sundry fragments of Dutch, English,
Indian, and even French--races all bound together by a community of
object and pursuit.
The approach of the three strangers did not in any degree startle the
good people from their idleness or their occupations. The carrying
trade was then a very good one, especially in remote places where
traveling was difficult, and these people could always make a very
tolerable livelihood without any very great or continuous exertion.
The result of such a state of things is always very detrimental to
activity of mind or body, and the boatmen, though they sauntered up
round Lord H---- and his companions, divining that some profitable
piece of work was before them, showed amazing indifference as to
whether they would undertake it or not. But that which astonished Lord
H---- the most was to see the deliberate coolness with which Woodchuck
set about making his bargain for the conveyance of himself and Walter
to Albany. He sat down upon a large stone within the enclosure, took a
knife from his pocket and a piece of wood from the ground, and began
cutting the latter with the former with as tranquil and careless an
air as if there were no heavy thought upon his mind--no dark memory
behind him--no terrible fate dogging him at the heels. But Woodchuck
and Walter were both well known to the boatmen, and though they might
probably have attempted to impose upon the inexperience of the lad,
they knew they had met their match in the shrewdness of his companion,
and were not aware that any circumstance rendered speed more valuable
to him than money. The bargaining, then, was soon concluded, but
Captain Brooks was not contented till he had bargained also for the
services of two men in guiding Lord H---- back to the house of Mr.
Prevost. This was undertaken for a dollar apiece, however, and then
the whole party proceeded to the bank of the river, where a boat was
soon unmoored, and Walter and his companion set forth upon their
journey, not, however, till Lord H---- had shaken the latter warmly by
the hand, and said a few words in the ear of Captain Brooks, adding:
"Walter will tell you more, and how to communicate with me."
"Thank you, thank you," replied the hunter, wringing his hand hard. "A
friend in need is a friend indeed. I do not want it, but I thank you
as much as if I did; but you shall hear if I do, for somehow I guess
you are not the man to say what you don't mean."
After seeing his two companions row down the stream a few yards, the
young nobleman turned to the boatmen who accompanied him, saying:
"Now, my lads, I want to make a change of our arrangements, and to go
back the short way by which we came. I did not interrupt our good
friend Woodchuck, because he was anxious about my safety. There are
some Indians in the forest, and he feared I might get scalped.
However, we shot a panther there which we could not stay to skin, as
their business in Albany was pressing. Now I want the skin, and am not
afraid of the Indians--are you?"
The men laughed, and replied in the negative, saying that there were
none of the redmen there but four or five Oneidas and Mohawks, but
adding that the way, though shorter, was much more difficult and
bushy, and therefore they must have more pay. Lord H----, however, was
less difficult to deal with than Captain Brooks, and yielded readily
to their demands.
Each of the men then armed himself with a rifle and took a bag of
parched corn with him, and the three set out.
Lord H---- undertook to guide them to the spot where the panther lay,
and not a little did they wonder at the accuracy and precision with
which his military habits of observation enabled him to direct them
step by step. He took great care not to let them approach the spot
where the dead Indian had been slain, but turning about a quarter of a
mile to the south, led them across the thicket to within a very few
yards of the object of his search. It was soon found, when they came
near the place, and about half an hour was employed in taking off the
skin and packing it up for carriage.
"Now," said Lord H----, "will you two undertake to have this skin
properly cured and dispatched by the first trader going west to the
Oneida village?"
The men readily agreed to do so if well paid for it, but, of course,
required further directions, saying there were a dozen or more Oneida
villages.
"It will be sure to reach its destination," said Lord H----, "if you
tell the bearer to deliver it to Otaitsa, which, I believe, means the
Blossom, the daughter of Black Eagle, the sachem. Say that it comes
from Walter Prevost."
"Oh, aye," answered the boatmen, "it shall be done; but we shall have
to pay the man who carries it."
The arrangement in regard to payment was soon made, though it was
somewhat exorbitant; but to insure that the commission was faithfully
executed, Lord H---- reserved a portion of the money, to be given when
he heard that the skin had been delivered.
The rest of the journey was passed without interruption or difficulty,
and at an early hour of the evening the young nobleman stood once more
at the door of his fellow countryman's house.
CHAPTER VI
The return of Lord H---- without his guide and companion, Captain
Brooks, caused some surprise in Mr. Prevost and his daughter, who had
not expected to see any of the party before a late hour of the
following evening. Not choosing to explain, in the presence of Edith,
the cause of his parting so suddenly from the hunter, the young
nobleman merely said that circumstances had led him to conclude it
would be advisable to send Woodchuck in the boat with Walter, to
Albany, and his words were uttered in so natural and easy a tone that
Edith, unconscious that her presence put any restraint upon his
communication with her father, remained seated in their pleasant
little parlor till the hour for the evening meal.
"Well, my lord," said Mr. Prevost, after the few first words of
explanation had passed, "did you meet with any fresh specimens of the
Indian in your short expedition?"
The question might have been a somewhat puzzling one for a man who did
not want to enter into any particulars, but Lord H---- replied with
easy readiness:
"Only one. Him we saw only for a moment, and he did not speak with
us."
"They are a very curious race," said Mr. Prevost, "and albeit not very
much given to ethnological studies, I have often puzzled myself as to
whence they sprang, and how they made their way over to this
continent."
Lord H---- smiled. "I fear I cannot help you," he said. "Mine is a
coarse and unstudious profession, you know, my dear sir, and leads one
much more to look at things as they are than to inquire how they came
about. It strikes me at once, however, that in mere corporeal
characteristics the Indian is very different from any race I ever
beheld, if I may judge by the few individuals I have seen."
"Bating the grace and dignity," said Edith, gayly, "I do think that
what my father would call the finest specimens of the human animal are
to be found among the Indians. Look at our dear little Otaitsa, for
instance. Can anything be more beautiful, more graceful, more perfect
than her whole face and form?"
Lord H---- smiled and slightly bowed his head, saying: "Now many a
fair lady, Miss Prevost, would naturally expect a very gallant reply,
and I might make one without a compliment, in good cool blood, and
upon calm, mature consideration. I am very poorly versed, however, in
civil speeches, and therefore I will only say that I think I have seen
white ladies as beautiful, as graceful, and as perfect as your fair
young friend, together with the advantage of a better complexion. But
at the same time I will admit that she is exceedingly beautiful, and
not only that but very charming, and very interesting, too. Hers is
not exactly the style of beauty I admire the most, but certainly hers
is perfect in its kind, and my young friend Walter seems to think so,
too."
A slight flush passed over Edith's cheek, and her eyes instantly
turned toward her father. But Mr. Prevost only laughed, saying: "If
they were not so young, I should be afraid that my son would marry the
sachem's daughter, and perhaps in the end take to the tomahawk and the
scalping knife. But joking apart, Otaitsa is a very singular little
creature. I never can bring myself to feel that she is an Indian--a
savage, in short, when I hear her low, melodious voice, with its
peculiar song-like sort of intonation, and see the grace and dignity
with which she moves, and the ease and propriety with which she
adapts herself to every European custom. I have to look at her
bead-embroidered petticoat and her leggings and moccasins before I can
bring it home to my mind that she is not some very high-bred lady of
the court of France or England. Then she is so fair, too; but that is
probably from care, and the lack of that exposure to the sun which may
at first have given and then perpetuated the Indian tint. To use an
old homely expression, she is the apple of her father's eye, and he is
as careful of her as of a jewel, after his own particular fashion."
"She is a dear creature," said Edith, warmly, "all soul, and heart,
and feeling. Thank God, too, she is a Christian, and you cannot fancy,
my lord, what marvellous stores of information the little creature
has. She knows that England is an island in the midst of the salt sea,
and she can write and read our tongue nearly as well as she speaks it.
She has a holy hatred of the French, however, and would not speak a
word of their language for the world, for all her information and a
good share of her ideas come from our good friend Mr. Gore, who has
carried John Bull completely into the heart of the wilderness and kept
him there perfect in a sort of crystallized state. Had we but a few
more men such as himself amongst the Indian tribes, there would be no
fear of any wavering in the friendship of the Five Nations. There goes
an Indian now past the window. We shall have him in here in a moment,
for they stand upon no ceremony--no, he is speaking to Antony, the
negro boy. How curiously he peeps about him--he must be looking for
somebody he does not find."
Lord H---- rose and went to the window, and in a minute or two after
the Indian stalked quietly away and disappeared in the forest.
"What could he want?" said Edith. "It is strange he did not come in. I
will ask Antony what he sought here," and going to the door she called
the gardener boy up and questioned him.
"He want Captain Woodchuck, Missa," replied the lad. "He ask if he not
lodge here last night. I tell him yes, but Woodchuck go away early
this morning, and not come back since. He 'quire very much about him,
and who went with him. I tell him Massa Walter and de strange
gentleman, but both leave him soon. Massa Walter go straight to
Albany, strange gentleman come back here."
"Did he speak English?" asked Edith.
"Few words," replied the negro. "I speak few words Indian. So patch
'em together make many, missy;" and he laughed with that peculiar,
unmeaning laugh with which his race are accustomed to distinguish
anything they consider witty.
The whole conversation was heard by the two gentlemen within. On Mr.
Prevost it had no effect but to call a cynical smile upon his lips,
but the case was different with Lord H----. He saw that the deed which
had been done in the forest was known to the Indians; that its doer
had been recognized, and that the hunt was up; and he rejoiced to
think that poor Woodchuck was already far beyond pursuit. Anxious,
however, to gain a fuller insight into the character and habits of a
people of whom, as yet, he had obtained but a glimpse, he continued to
converse with Mr. Prevost in regard to the aboriginal races, and
learned several facts which by no means tended to decrease the
uneasiness which the events of the morning had produced.
"The Indians," said his host, in answer to a leading question, "are,
as you say, a very revengeful people, but not more so than many other
barbarous nations. Indeed, in many of their feelings and habits they
greatly resemble a people I have heard of in central Asia, called
Alghanns. Both, in common with almost all barbarians, look upon
revenge as a duty imperative upon every family and every tribe. They
modify their ideas, indeed, in case of war, although it is very
difficult to bring about peace after war has commenced; but if any
individual of a tribe is killed by another person in time of peace,
nothing but the blood of the murderer can satisfy the family or the
tribe, if he can be caught. They will pursue him for weeks and months,
and employ every stratagem which their fertile brains can suggest to
entrap him, till they feel quite certain that he is beyond their
reach. This perseverance proceeds from a religious feeling, for they
believe that the spirit of their dead relation can never enter the
happy hunting grounds till his blood has been atoned for by that of
the slayer."
"But if they cannot catch the slayer," asked Lord H----, "what do they
do then?"
"I used a wrong expression," replied Mr. Prevost. "I should have said
the blood of some other victim. It is their duty, according to their
ideas, to sacrifice the slayer. If satisfied that he is perfectly
beyond their power, they strive to get hold of his nearest relation.
If they cannot do that, they take a man of his tribe or nation and
sacrifice him. It is all done very formally, and with all sorts of
consideration and consultation, for in these bloody rites they are the
most deliberate people in the world, and the most persevering, also."
A few days before, Lord H---- might have plainly and openly told all
the occurrences of the morning in the ears of Edith Prevost, but
sensations had been springing up in his breast which made him more
tender of her feelings, more careful of creating alarm and anxiety,
and he kept his painful secret well till after the evening meal was
over, and she had retired to her chamber. Then, however, he stopped
Mr. Prevost just as that gentleman was raising a light to hand to his
guest, and said: "I am afraid, my good friend, we cannot go to bed
just yet. I have something to tell you which, from all I have heard
since it occurred, appears to me of much greater importance than at
first. Whether anything can be done to avert the evil consequences, or
not, I cannot tell; but at all events, it is as well that you and I
should talk the matter over."
He then related to Mr. Prevost all the events of the morning, and was
sorry to perceive that gentleman's face assuming a deeper and deeper
gloom as he proceeded.
"This is most unfortunate, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, at length. "I
quite acquit our poor friend Brooks of any evil intent, but to slay an
Indian at all, so near our house, and especially an Oneida, was most
unlucky. That tribe or nation, as they call themselves, from the
strong personal regard, I suppose, which has grown up accidentally
between their chief and myself, has always shown the greatest kindness
and friendship toward myself and my family. Before this event I should
have felt myself in any of their villages as much at home as by my own
fireside, and I am sure that each man felt himself as secure on any
part of the lands granted to me as if he were in his own lodge. But
now, as they will call it, their blood has stained my very mat, and
the consequences no one can foresee. Woodchuck has himself escaped. He
has no relations or friends on whom they can wreak their vengeance."
"Surely," exclaimed Lord H----, "they will never visit his offence on
you or yours?"
"I trust not," replied Mr. Prevost, after a moment's thought, "but yet
I cannot feel exactly sure. They will take a white man for their
victim--an Englishman--one of the same nation as the offender.
Probably it may not matter much to them who it is, and the
affectionate regard which they entertain toward us may turn the evil
aside. But yet these Indians have a sort of fanaticism in their
religion, as well as we have in ours--the station and the dignity of
the victim which they offer up enters into their consideration--they
like to make a worthy and an honorable sacrifice, as they consider it;
and just as this spirit moves them or not, they may think that anyone
will do for their purpose, or that they are required by their god of
vengeance to immolate someone dear to themselves, in order to dignify
the sacrifice."
"This is indeed a very sad view of the affair which had never struck
me," replied Lord H----, "and it may be well to consider, my dear sir,
what is the best and the safest course. I must now tell you one of the
objects which made me engage your son to carry my dispatches to
Albany. It seemed to me, from all I have heard during my short
residence with you, especially during my conference with Sir William
Johnson, that the unprotected state of this part of the country left
Albany itself and the settlements around it unpleasantly exposed. We
know that on a late occasion it was Dieskau's intention, if he had
succeeded in defeating Sir William and capturing Fort George, to make
a dash at the capital of the province. He was defeated, but there is
reason to believe that Montcalm, a man much his superior both in
energy and skill, entertained the same views, although I know not what
induced him to retreat so hastily after his black and bloody triumph
at Fort William Henry. He may seize some other opportunity, and I can
perceive nothing whatsoever to impede his progress or delay him for an
hour, if he can make himself master of the few scattered forts which
lie between Albany and Carrillon or Ticonderoga. In the circumstances,
I have strongly urged that a small force should be thrown forward to a
commanding point on the river Hudson, not many miles from this place,
which I examined as I came hither, with an advanced post or two still
nearer to your house. My own regiment I have pointed out as better
fitted for the service than any other, and I think that if my
suggestions are attended to, as I doubt not they will be, we can give
you efficient protection. But I think," continued the young nobleman,
speaking more slowly and emphatically, "that with two young people so
justly dear to you--with a daughter so beautiful and in every way so
charming, and so gallant and noble a lad as Walter, whose high spirit
and adventurous character will expose him continually to any snares
that may be set for him, it will be much better for you to retire with
them both to Albany, at least till such time as you know that the
spirit of Indian vengeance has been satisfied, and that the real peril
has passed."
Mr. Prevost mused for several minutes, and then replied: "The motives
you suggest are certainly very strong, my lord, but I have strange
ways of viewing such subjects, and I must have time to consider
whether it is fair and right to my fellow countrymen scattered over
this district to withdraw from my share of the peril which all who
remain would have to encounter. Do not argue with me upon the subject
to-night--I will think over it well, and doubt not that I shall view
the plan you have suggested with all the favor that paternal love can
afford. I will also keep my mind free to receive any further reasons
you may have to produce. But I must first consider quietly and alone.
There is no need of immediate decision, for these people, according to
their own code, are bound to make themselves perfectly sure that they
cannot get possession of the actual slayer before they choose another
victim. It is clear from what the Indian said to the negro boy, that
they know the hand that did the deed, and they must search for poor
Brooks first, and practice every device to allure him back before they
immolate another. Let us both think over the matter well and confer
to-morrow."
Thus saying, he shook hands with Lord H----, and they retired to their
several chambers with very gloomy and apprehensive thoughts.
Next morning Mr. Prevost was aroused by a distant knocking at the huts
where the outdoor servants slept, and then by a repetition of the
sound at the door of the house itself. Rising hastily, he got down in
time to see the door opened by old Agrippa, and found a man on
horseback bearing a large official-looking letter addressed to
Major-General Lord H----.
It proved to be a dispatch from Sir William Johnson, requesting both
Lord H---- and himself to attend a meeting of some of the chiefs of
the Five Nations, which was to be held at Johnson Castle, on the
Mohawk, in the course of the following day. The distance was not very
great, but still the difficulty of traveling required the two
gentlemen to set out at once in order to reach the place of rendezvous
before night, and neither liked to neglect what they considered a
duty.
"I will mount my horse as soon as it can be got ready," said Lord
H----, when he had read the letter and shown it to Mr. Prevost. "I
suppose, in existing circumstances, you will not think it advisable to
accompany me?"
"Most certainly I will go with you, my lord," replied his host. "As I
said last night, the danger, though very certain, is not immediate.
Weeks, months may pass before these Indians feel assured that they
cannot obtain possession of the actual slayer of their red brother;
and as many of the Oneidas will probably be present at this talk, as
they call it, I may perhaps (though it is very doubtful) gain some
insight into their thoughts and intentions. I will take my daughter
with me, however, for I should not like to leave her here altogether
alone. Her preparations may delay us for half an hour, but still we
have ample time, and the horse of the messenger, who will act as our
guide, must have some little time to take rest and food."
A very brief time was spent at breakfast, and then the whole party set
out on horseback, followed by a negro leading a pack-horse, and
preceded by the messenger of Sir William Johnson. Mr. Prevost, the
messenger, and the negro, were all armed; but Lord H----, who had
hitherto worn nothing but the common riding suit in which he had first
presented himself, except in his unfortunate expedition with Captain
Brooks, had now donned the splendid uniform of a major-general in the
British service, and was merely armed with his sword and pistols in
the holsters of his saddle.
The journey passed without incident. Not a human being was seen for
seventeen or eighteen miles, though here and there a small log hut,
apparently deserted, testified to the efforts of a new race to wrest
their hunting grounds from an earlier people--efforts too soon, too
sadly, and too cruelly to be consummated. The softer light of early
morning died away, and then succeeded a warmer period of the day, when
the heat became very oppressive; for in the midst of those deep
forests, with no wind stirring, the change from summer to winter is
not felt so rapidly as in more open lands. About an hour after noon
they proposed to stop, rest the horses, and take some refreshment, and
a spot was selected where some fine oaks spread their large limbs over
a beautifully clear little lake or pond, the view across which
presented peeps of a distant country, with some blue hills of no very
great elevation appearing above the tops of the trees.
At the end of an hour the party again mounted and pursued their way,
still on through forests and valleys, across streams and by the sides
of lakes, till at length, just as the evening sun was reaching the
horizon, a visible change took place in the aspect of the country:
spots were seen which had been cultivated, where harvests had grown
and been reaped, and then a house gleamed here and there through the
forest, and blue wreaths of smoke might be seen rising up. Tracks of
cart wheels channeled the forest path; a cart or wagon was drawn up
near the roadside; high piles of firewood showed preparation against
the bitter winter; and everything indicated that the travelers were
approaching some new but prosperous settlement.
Soon all traces of the primeval woods, except those which the little
party left behind them, disappeared, and a broad tract of well
cultivated country spread out before them, with a fine river bounding
it at the distance of more than a mile. The road, too, was
comparatively good and broad, and half way between the forest and the
river that road divided into two, one branch going straight on, and
another leading up the course of the stream.
"Is Sir William at the Hall or at his Castle?" asked Mr. Prevost,
raising his voice to reach the ears of his guide, who kept a little in
front.
"He said, sir, to take you on to the Hall if you should come on, sir,"
replied the messenger. "There is a great number of Indians up at the
Castle already, and he thought you might perhaps not like to be with
them altogether."
"Probably not," replied Mr. Prevost, drily; and they rode on upon the
direct road till, passing two or three smaller houses, they came in
sight of a very large and handsome edifice, built of wood indeed, but
somewhat in the style of a European house of the reign of George the
First. As they approached the gates, Sir William Johnson himself, now
in the full costume of an officer of the British army, came down the
steps to meet and welcome them; and little less ceremonious politeness
did he display in the midst of the wild woods of America than if he
had been at the moment in the halls of St. James's. With stately grace
he lifted Edith from her horse, greeted Lord H---- with a deferential
bow, shook Mr. Prevost by the hand, and then led them himself to rooms
which seemed to have been prepared for them.
"Where is my friend Walter?" he said, as he was about to leave Mr.
Prevost to some short repose. "What has induced him to deny his old
acquaintance the pleasure of his society? Ha, Mr. Prevost, does he
think to find metal more attractive at your lonely dwelling? Perhaps
he may be mistaken, for let me tell you the beautiful Otaitsa is
here--here in this very house; for our good friend Gore has so
completely Anglified her, that what between her Christianity, her
beauty, and her delicacy, I believe she is afraid to trust herself
with four or five hundred red warriors at the Castle."
He spoke in a gay and jesting tone, and everyone knows the blessed
facility which parents have of shutting their eyes to the love affairs
of their children. Mr. Prevost did not in the least perceive anything
in the worthy general's speech but a good-humored joke at the boyish
fondness of his son for a pretty Indian girl, and he hastened to
excuse Walter's absence by telling Sir William that he had been sent
to Albany on business by Lord H----. He then inquired, somewhat
anxiously: "Is our friend the Black Eagle here with his daughter?"
"He is here on the ground," replied Sir William, "but not in the
house. His Indian habits are of too old standing to be rooted out like
Otaitsa's, and he prefers a bearskin and his own blue blanket to the
best bed and quilt in the house. I offered him such accommodation as
it afforded, but he declined, with the dignity of a prince refusing
the hospitality of a cottage."
"Does he seem in a good humor to-day?" asked Mr. Prevost, hesitating
whether he should tell Sir William at a moment when they were likely
to be soon interrupted, the event which had caused so much
apprehension in his own mind. "You know he is somewhat variable in his
mood."
"I never remarked it," replied the other. "I think he is the most
civilized savage I ever saw, far more than King Hendrick, though the
one, since his father's death, wears a blue coat and the other does
not. He did seem a little grave indeed, but the shadows of Indian
mirth and gravity are so faint, it is difficult to distinguish them."
While these few words were passing Mr. Prevost had decided upon his
course, and he merely replied: "Well, Sir William, pray let Otaitsa
know that Edith is here; they will soon be in each other's arms, for
the two girls love like sisters."
A few words sprung to Sir William Johnson's lips, which, had they been
uttered, might perhaps have opened Mr. Prevost's eyes, at least to the
suspicions of his friend. He was on the eve of answering, "And some
day they may be sisters," but he checked himself, and nothing but the
smile which should have accompanied the words made any reply.
When left alone, the thoughts of Mr. Prevost reverted at once to more
pressing considerations. "The old chief knows the event," he said to
himself; "he has heard of it--heard the whole, probably--it is
wonderful how rapidly intelligence is circulated amongst this people
from mouth to mouth."
He was well nigh led away into speculations regarding the strange
celerity with which news can be carried orally, and was beginning to
calculate how much distance to travel would be saved in a given space,
by one man shouting the tidings to another at a distance, when he
forced back his mind into the track it had left, and came to the full
conclusion from his knowledge of the character of the parties, and
from all that he had heard, that certainly the Black Eagle was
cognizant of the death of one of his tribe by the hand of Captain
Brooks, and probably--though not certainly--had communicated the
facts, but not his views and purposes, to his daughter, whose keen
eyes were likely to discover much of that which he intended to
conceal.
CHAPTER VII
There was a curious and motley assembly, that night, in the halls of
Sir William Johnson. There were several ladies and gentlemen from
Albany, several young military men, and two or three persons of a
class now extinct, but who then drove a thriving commerce, and whose
peculiar business it was to trade with the Indians. Some of the latter
were exceedingly well educated men, and one or two of them were
persons not only of enlightened minds, but of enlarged views and
heart. The others were mere brutal speculators, whose whole end and
object in life was to wring as much from the savages and give as
little in return as possible. Besides these, an Indian chief would,
from time to time, appear in the rooms, often marching through in
perfect silence, observing all that was going on with dignified
gravity, and then going back to his companions at the Castle. Amongst
the rest was Otaitsa, still in her Indian costume, but evidently in
gala dress, of the finest cloth and the most elaborate embroidery. Not
only was she perfectly at her ease, talking to everyone, laughing with
many; but the sort of shrinking, timid tenderness which gave her so
great a charm in the society of the few whom she loved had given place
to a wild spirit of gaiety but little in accordance with the character
of her nation.
She glided hither and thither through the room; she rested in one
place hardly for a moment; her jests were as light, and sometimes as
sharp as those of almost any Parisian dame; and when one of the young
officers ventured to speak to her somewhat lightly as the mere Indian
girl, she piled upon him a mass of ridicule that wrung tears of
laughter from the eyes of one or two older men standing near.
"I know not what has come to the child to-night," said Mr. Gore, who
was seated near Edith in one of the rooms; "a wild spirit seems to
have seized upon her, which is quite unlike her whole character and
nature--unlike the character of her people, too, or I might think that
the savage had returned notwithstanding all my care."
"Perhaps it is the novelty and excitement of the scene," said Edith.
"Oh no," answered the missionary, "there is nothing new in this scene
to her. She has been at these meetings several times during the last
two or three years, but never seemed to yield to their influence as
she has done to-night."
"She has hardly spoken a word to me," said Edith. "I hope she will not
forget the friends who love her."
"No fear of that, my dear," replied Mr. Gore, "Otaitsa is all heart,
and that heart a gentle one; under its influence is she acting now. It
throbs with something that we do not know; and those light words that
make us smile to hear, have sources deep within her--perhaps of
bitterness."
"I think I have heard her say," answered Edith, "that you educated her
from her childhood."
"When first I joined the people of the Stone," replied the missionary,
"I found her there a young child of three years old. Her mother was
just dead, and although her father bore his grief with the stern,
gloomy stoicism of his nation, and neither suffered tear to fall nor
sigh to escape his lips, I could see plainly enough that he was struck
with grief such as the Indian seldom feels and never shows. He
received me most kindly, and made my efforts with his people easy; and
though I know not to this hour whether with himself I have been
successful in communicating blessed light, he gave his daughter
altogether up to my charge, and with her I have not failed. I fear in
him the savage is too deeply rooted to be ever wrung forth, but her I
have made one of Christ's flock indeed."
It seemed as if by a sort of instinct that Otaitsa discovered that she
was the subject of conversation between her two friends. Twice she
looked around at them from the other side of the room, and then she
glided across and seated herself beside Edith. For a moment she sat in
silence there, and then leaning her head gracefully on her beautiful
companion's shoulder, she said in a low whisper: "Do not close thine
eyes this night, my sister, till thou seest me;" and then starting up,
she mingled with the little crowd again.
It was still early in the night when Edith retired to the chamber
assigned for her; for even in the most fashionable society of those
times, people had not learned to drive the day into the night, and
make morning and evening meet. Her room was a large and handsome one,
and though plainly, it was sufficiently furnished. No forest, as at
her dwelling, interrupted the beams of the rising moon, and she sat
and contemplated the ascent of the queen of night as she soared
grandly over the distant trees. The conduct of Otaitsa during that
night had puzzled her, and the few whispered words had excited her
curiosity, for it must not be forgotten that Edith was altogether
unacquainted with the fact of one of the Oneidas having been slain by
the hands of Captain Brooks within little more than two miles of her
own abode. She proceeded to make her toilet for the night, however,
and was almost undressed when she heard the door of her room open
quietly, and Otaitsa stole in and cast her arms around her.
"Ah, my sister," she said, "I have longed to talk with you;" and
seating herself by her side, she leaned her head again upon Edith's
shoulder, but remained silent for several minutes. The fair English
girl knew that it was better to let her take her own time and her own
way to speak whatever she had to say, but Otaitsa remained so long
without uttering a word that an undefinable feeling of alarm spread
over her young companion. She felt her bosom heave as if with
struggling sighs, she even felt some warm drops like tears fall upon
her shoulder, and yet Otaitsa remained without speaking, till at
length Edith said, in a gentle and encouraging tone: "What is it, my
sister? There can surely be nothing you should be afraid to utter to
my ear."
"Not afraid," answered Otaitsa, and then she relapsed into silence
again.
"But why do you weep, my sweet Blossom?" said Edith, after pausing for
a moment or two to give her time to recover her composure.
"Because one of your people has killed one of my people," answered the
Indian girl, sorrowfully. "Is not that enough to make me weep?"
"Indeed," exclaimed Edith, "I am much grieved to hear it, Blossom; but
when did this happen, and how?"
"It happened but yesterday," replied the girl, "and but a little
toward the morning from your own house, my sister. It was a sad day!
It was a sad day!"
"But I trust it was none near and dear to the Blossom or to the Black
Eagle," said Edith, putting her arms around her and trying to soothe
her.
"No, no," answered Otaitsa, "he was a bad man, a treacherous man, one
whom my father loved not. But that matters little. They will have
blood for his blood."
The truth flashed upon Edith's mind at once; for though less
acquainted with the Indian habits than her brother or her father, she
knew enough of their revengeful spirit to feel sure that they would
seek the death of the murderer with untiring eagerness, and she
questioned her sweet companion earnestly as to all the particulars of
the sad tale. Otaitsa told her all she knew, which was indeed nearly
all that could be told. The man called the Snake, she said, had been
shot by the white man Woodchuck, in the wood to the northeast of Mr.
Prevost's house. Intimation of the fact had spread like fire in dry
grass through the whole of the Oneidas, who were flocking to the
meeting at Sir William Johnson's Castle, and from them it would run
through the whole tribe.
"Woodchuck has escaped," she said, "or he would have been slain ere
now; but they will have his life yet, my sister;" and then she added,
slowly and sorrowfully, "or the life of some other white man, if they
cannot catch this one."
The words presented to Edith's mind a sad and terrible idea--one more
fearful in its vagueness and uncertainty of outline than in the
darkness of particular points. That out of a narrow and limited
population someone was foredoomed to be slain; that out of a small
body of men, all feeling almost as brethren, one was to be marked out
for slaughter; that one family was to lose husband or father or
brother, and no one could tell which, made her feel like one out of a
herd of wild animals cooped up within the toils of the hunters.
Edith's first object was to learn more from her young companion, but
Otaitsa had told almost all she knew.
"What they will do I know not," she said; "they do not tell us women.
But I fear, Edith, I fear very much; for they say our brother Walter
was with the Woodchuck when the deed was done."
"Not so! not so!" cried Edith. "Had he been so, I should have heard of
it. He has gone to Albany, and had he been present I am sure he would
have stopped it if he could. If your people tell truth they will
acknowledge that he was not there."
Otaitsa raised her head suddenly with a look of joy, exclaiming: "I
will make her tell the truth were she as cunning a snake as he
was--but yet, my sister Edith, someone will have to die if they find
not the man they seek."
The last words were spoken in a melancholy tone again; but then she
started up, repeating, "I will make her tell the truth."
"Can you do so?" asked Edith. "Snakes are always very crafty."
"I will try at least," answered the girl; "but oh, my sister, it were
better for you and Walter, and your father, too, to be away. When a
storm is coming, we try to save what is most precious. There is yet
ample time to go, for the red people are not rash, and do not act
hastily, as you white people do."
"But is there no means," asked Edith, "of learning what the intention
of the nation really is?"
"I know of none," answered the girl, "that can be depended upon with
certainty. The people of the Stone change no more than the stone from
which they sprang. The storm beats upon them, the sun shines upon
them, and there is little difference on the face of the rock. Yet let
your father watch well when he is at the great talk tomorrow. Then if
the priest is very smooth and soft-spoken, and if the Black Eagle is
stern and silent, wraps his blanket over his left breast, be sure that
something sad is meditated. That is all that I can tell you--but I
will make this woman speak the truth if there be truth in her, and
that, too, before the chiefs of the nation. Now, sister, lie down to
rest. Otaitsa is going at once to her people."
"But are you not afraid?" asked Edith. "It is a dark night, dear
Blossom. Lie down with me and wait the morning sunshine."
"I have no fear," answered the Indian girl; "nothing will hurt me.
There are times, sister, when a spirit enters into us that defies all
and fears nothing. So it has been with me this night. The only thing I
dreaded to face was my own thought, and it I would not suffer to rest
upon anything till I had spoken with you. Now, however, I have better
hopes. I will go forth and I will make her tell the truth."
Thus saying, she left Edith's chamber, and about an hour and a half
after she might be seen standing beside her father, who was seated
near a fire kindled in one corner of the court attached to a large
house, or rather fort, built by Sir William Johnson on the banks of
the Mohawk, and called by him his Castle. Round the sachem, forming a
complete circle, sat a number of the head men of the Oneidas, each in
that peculiar crouching position which has been rendered familiar to
our eyes by numerous paintings. The court and the Castle itself were
well nigh filled with Indians of other tribes of the Five Nations, but
none took any part in the proceedings of the Oneidas but themselves,
and the only stranger who was present in the circle was Sir William
Johnson. He was still fully dressed in his British uniform, and seated
on a chair in an attitude of much dignity, with his left hand resting
on the hilt of his sword. With the exception of that weapon he had no
arms whatever; and indeed it was his custom to sleep frequently in the
midst of his red friends utterly unarmed and defenceless. The occasion
seemed a solemn one, for all faces were very grave, and a complete
silence prevailed for several minutes.
"Bring in the woman," said Black Eagle, at length; "bring her in, and
let her speak the truth."
"Of what do you accuse her, Otaitsa?" asked Sir William Johnson,
fixing his eyes upon his beautiful guest.
"Of lying to the sachem and to her brethren," answered Otaitsa. "Her
breath has been full of the poison of the Snake."
"Thou hearest," said the Black Eagle, turning to a woman of some one
or two and twenty years of age. "What sayest thou?"
"I lie not," answered the woman, in the Indian tongue. "I saw him lift
the rifle and shoot my brother dead."
"Who did it?" asked Black Eagle, gravely and calmly.
"The Woodchuck," answered the woman. "He did it. I know his face too
well."
"Believe her not," answered Otaitsa, "the Woodchuck was ever a friend
of our nation. He is our brother. He would not slay an Oneida."
"But he was my brother's enemy," answered the woman. "There was
vengeance between them."
"Vengeance on thy brother's part," answered the old chief. "More
likely he to slay the Woodchuck than the Woodchuck to slay him."
"If she have a witness, let her bring him forward," said Otaitsa. "We
will believe her by the tongue of another."
"I have none," cried the woman, vehemently; "none was present but
ourselves, but I saw him kill my brother with my own eyes, and I cry
for his blood."
"Didst thou not say that there were two white men with him?" asked
Otaitsa, raising up her right hand. "Then in this thou hast lied to
the sachem and thy brethren, and who shall say whether thou speakest
the truth now."
A curious sort of drowsy hum ran round the circle of the Indians, and
one old man said: "She has spoken well."
The woman, in the meanwhile, stood silent and abashed, with her eyes
fixed upon the ground, and Black Eagle said in a grave tone: "There
was none?"
"No," said the woman, lifting her look firmly, "there was none; but I
saw two others in the wood hard by, and I was sure they were his
companions."
"That is guile," said Black Eagle, sternly. "Thou didst say that there
were two men with him, one the young paleface, Walter, and the other a
tall stranger, and brought a cloud over our eyes, and made us think
that they were present at the death."
"Then methinks, Black Eagle," said Sir William Johnson, using their
language nearly as fluently as his own, "there is no faith to be put
in the woman's story, and we cannot tell what has happened."
"Not so, my brother," answered Black Eagle. "We know that the Snake
was slain yesterday, before the sun had reached the pine tops. We
believe, too, that the Woodchuck slew him, for there was an enmity
between them; and the ball which killed him was a large ball, such as
we have never seen but in that man's pouch."
"That is doubtful evidence," said Sir William, "and I trust my brother
will let vengeance cease till he have better witnesses."
The Indians remained profoundly silent for more than a minute, and
then the old man who had spoken once before, replied: "If our brother
will give us up Woodchuck, vengeance shall cease."
"That I cannot do," answered Sir William Johnson. "First, I have no
power; secondly, he may be tried by our laws; but I will not lie to
you. If he can show he did it in self-defence, he will be set free."
Again there was a long silence, and then Black Eagle rose, saying: "We
must take counsel."
His face was very grave, and as he spoke he drew the large blue
blanket which covered his shoulders over his left breast, with the
gesture which Otaitsa had described to Edith, as indicating some dark
determination. Sir William Johnson marked the signs he saw, and was
too well acquainted with Indian character to believe that their thirst
for blood was at all allayed; but neither by expression of
countenance, nor by words, did he show any doubt of his red friends,
and slept amongst them calmly that night without a fear of the result.
At an early hour on the following morning all the arrangements were
made for the great council, or talk, that was about to be held. Some
large armchairs were brought forth into the court. A few soldiers were
seen moving about, and some negro servants. A number of the guests
from the Hall came up about nine o'clock, most of them on horseback;
but when all were assembled, the body of white men present were few
and insignificant when compared with the multitude of Indians who
surrounded them. No one showed or entertained any fear, however, and
the conference commenced and passed off with perfect peace and
harmony.
It is true that several of the Indian chiefs, and more especially King
Hendrick, as he was called, the son of the chief who had been killed
near Fort George a year or two before, had made some complaints
against the British government for neglect of the just claims of their
red allies. All angry feeling, however, was removed by a somewhat
large distribution of presents, and after hearing everything which the
Indians had to say, Sir William Johnson rose from the chair in which
he had been seated, between Lord H---- and Mr. Prevost, and addressed
the assembly in English, according to his invariable custom, when
called upon to deal publicly with the heads of the Five Nations, the
speech being translated, sentence for sentence, by an interpreter. The
whole of his address cannot be given here, but it was skillfully
turned to suit the prejudices and conciliate the friendship of the
people to whom he spoke. He said that their English father, King
George, loved his red children with peculiar affection, but as his
lodge was a long way off, he could not always know their wants and
wishes. He had very lately, however, shown his great tenderness and
consideration for the Five Nations by appointing him, Sir William
Johnson, as Indian agent, to make known as speedily as possible all
that his red children desired. He then drew a glowing picture of the
greatness and majesty of the English monarch, as the Attotarho of
chief leader of a thousand different nations, sitting under a pine
tree that reached to the sky, and receiving every minute messages from
his children in every part of the earth.
A hum of satisfaction from the Indians followed this flight of fancy,
and the speaker went on to say that this great chief, their father,
had long ago intended to do much for them, and still intended to do
so, but that the execution of his benevolent purposes had been delayed
and impeded by the machinations of the French, their enemies and his,
whom he represented as stealthily lying in wait for all the ships and
convoys of goods and presents which were destined for his Indian
children, and possessing themselves of them by force or fraud. Rich as
he might be, he asked how was it possible that their white father
could supply all their wants when he had so many to provide for, and
when so many of his enemies had dug up the tomahawk at once. If the
chiefs of the Five Nations, however, he said, would vigorously aid him
in his endeavors, King George would speedily drive the French from
America; and to show his intention of so doing, he had sent over the
great chief on his left hand, Lord H----, and many other mighty
warriors, to fight side by side with their red brethren. More, he
said, would come on in the ensuing spring, and with the first flower
that blossomed under the hemlock trees the English warriors would be
ready for the battle, if the Indian chiefs then present would promise
them cordial support and co-operation.
It must not be supposed that in employing very exaggerated language
Sir William had any intention of deceiving. He merely used figures
suited to the comprehension of his auditors, and his speech gave the
very highest satisfaction. The unusually large presents which had been
distributed, the presence and bearing of the young nobleman, and a
natural weariness of the state of semi-neutrality between the French
and the English, which they had maintained for some time, disposed the
chiefs to grant the utmost he could desire, and the conference broke
up with the fullest assurance of support from the heads of the
Iroquois tribes--assurances which were faithfully made good in the
campaigns which succeeded.
CHAPTER VIII
All was pleasant at the house of Sir William Johnson, from which the
stateliness of his manner did not at all detract, for when blended
with perfect courtesy, as an Irishman can perhaps better than any man
blend it, stateliness does not imply restraint. The conference with
the Indians had not ended until too late an hour for Mr. Prevost and
his companions to return to his dwelling on the day when it took
place, and as Walter was not expected with the answers to Lord H----'s
dispatches for at least two days more, the party were not unwilling to
prolong their stay till the following morning. Several of the guests,
indeed, who were proceeding to Albany direct, set out at once for
their destination, certain of reaching the well inhabited parts of the
country before nightfall; and it was at one time proposed to send a
letter by them to young Walter Prevost, directing him to join his
father at the Hall. The inconveniences which so frequently ensue from
deranging plans already fixed, caused this scheme to be rejected, and
while her father, Lord H----, and their host wandered forth for an
hour or two along the banks of the beautiful Mohawk, Edith remained at
the Hall, not without hope of seeing Otaitsa present herself, with
some intelligence. The beautiful Indian girl, however, did not appear,
and gloomy thoughts thronged fast upon poor Edith. She strove to
banish them; she schooled herself in regard to anticipating events
only possible; but who ever mastered completely those internal
warnings of approaching peril or woe, which as often come to cloud our
brightest days, as to darken the gloom of an already tempestuous sky?
Her chief companion was an old lady nearly related to Sir William, but
very deaf and very silent, and she had but small relief in
conversation.
In the meantime the three gentlemen and a young aide-de-camp pursued
their way amongst the neat farmhouses and mechanics' shops which had
gathered round the Hall; Mr. Prevost gave way to thoughts apparently
as gloomy as those which haunted his daughter, but in reality not so,
for his was a mind of a discursive character, which was easily led by
any collateral idea far away from any course which it was at first
pursuing; and though he had awakened that morning full of the
considerations which had engaged him during the preceding day, he was
now busily calculating the results of the meeting which had just been
held, and arriving at the conclusions, more just than were reached by
many of the great statesmen and politicians of the day.
Lord H----, on his part, paid no little attention to the demeanor and
all the proceedings of their host. The character of his mind was the
exact reverse of that of Mr. Prevost, attaching itself keenly to an
object, and turned from its contemplation with difficulty. His
thoughts still dwelt upon the consequences which were likely to ensue
from the death of the Oneida by the hands of Captain Brooks, without
anything like alarm, indeed, but with careful forethought for those
who in a few short days had won for themselves a greater share of the
warmer affections which lay hidden in his heart than he often bestowed
upon anyone. As they quitted the door of the house a mere trifle
called his attention to something peculiar in the conduct of Sir
William Johnson, and led him to believe that the mind of that officer
was not altogether at ease, notwithstanding the favorable result of
the meeting with the Indians. After they had taken a step or two upon
their way, Sir William Johnson paused suddenly, turned back, and
ordered a servant to run up to the top of the hill and there watch
until he returned. "Mark well which paths they take," he said, without
specifying the persons of whom he spoke, "and let me hear if you see
anything peculiar."
The man seemed to understand him perfectly, and the parties, as I have
said, walked on, Lord H---- watching everything with the utmost
attention. In the course of their ramble not less than some nine or
ten persons came up at different times, and spoke a word or two to Sir
William Johnson. First it was a negro, then a soldier, then an Irish
servant, then another white man, but with features of a strongly
marked Indian character. Each seemed to give some information in a few
words uttered in a low tone, and each departed as soon as they were
spoken, some with a brief answer, some with none.
The evening which succeeded their walk passed somewhat differently
from the preceding one. There were fewer persons present, the
conversation was more general and intimate, and Sir William Johnson,
seating Edith at the old-fashioned instrument which in those days
supplied the lack of pianofortes, asked for a song which it seems he
had heard her sing before. She complied without any hesitation, with a
sufficient skill and management of her voice to show that she had been
well taught, but with tones so rich, so pure, and so melodious, that
every sound in the room was instantly hushed, and Lord H----
approached nearer and nearer to listen.
Lord H---- was full not only of the love but of the sense of music,
and he drew closer and closer to Edith as she sang, and at length hung
over her with his face turned away from the other guests in the room,
and bearing written on it feelings which he hardly yet knew were in
his heart. Sir William Johnson was standing on the other side of the
beautiful girl's chair, and as she concluded the stanza before the
last he raised his eyes suddenly to the face of Lord H---- with a look
of great satisfaction. What he saw there made him start and then
smile, for the characters written on the young nobleman's countenance
were too plain to be mistaken; and Sir William Johnson, who was not
without his share of worldly wisdom, at once divined that Edith
Prevost was likely to be a peeress of England.
"What a fine musician she is," said the older general to the young
nobleman, after he had conducted Edith to her former seat, but before
the enthusiasm had subsided. "One would hardly expect to find such
music in the wild woods of America."
"She is all music," said Lord H----, in an absent tone, and then
added, rousing himself, "but you must not attribute such powers and
such perfections altogether to your own land of America, Sir William,
for I find that Miss Prevost was educated in Europe."
"Only till she was fourteen," replied the other; "but they are
altogether a most remarkable family. If ever girl was perfect, it is
herself. Her father, though somewhat too much given to dream, is a man
of singular powers of mind; and her brother, Walter, whom I look upon
almost as a son, is full of high and noble qualities and energies
which, if he lives, will certainly lead him on to greatness."
"I think so," said Lord H----, and there the conversation dropped for
the time. The rest of the evening passed on without any incident of
note, and by daybreak on the following morning the whole household
were on foot. An early breakfast was ready for the travelers, and
nothing betrayed much anxiety on the part of their host till the very
moment of their departure. As they were about to set forth, however,
and just when Edith appeared in her riding habit (or Amazon, as it was
then called), and the hat, with large, floating ostrich plumes usually
worn at that time by ladies when on horseback, looking lovely enough,
it is true, to justify any compliment, Sir William took her by the
hand, saying, with a gay and courteous air: "I am going to give you a
commission, my fair Hypolita, which is neither more nor less than the
command of half a dozen dragoons, whom I wish to go with you for a
portion of the way, partly to exercise their horses on a road which is
marvellously cleared of stumps and stones for this part of the
country, partly to examine what is going on a little to the northeast,
and partly to bring me the pleasant intelligence that you have gone at
least half way to your home in safety."
Lord H---- looked in his face in silence, and Edith turned a little
pale, but said nothing. Mr. Prevost, however, went directly to the
point, saying: "You know of some danger, my good friend. You had
better inform us of all the particulars, that we may be upon our
guard."
"None whatever, Prevost," answered Sir William, "except the general
perils of inhabiting an advanced spot on the frontiers of a savage
people, especially when anything has occurred to offend them. You know
what we talked about yesterday morning. The Oneidas do not easily
forgive, and in this case they will not forgive. But I have every
reason to believe that they have taken their way homeward for the
present. My people traced them a good way to the west, and it is only
from some chance stragglers that there is any danger."
Mr. Prevost mused, without moving to the door, which was open for them
to depart, and then said, in a meditating kind of tone: "I do not
think they will attack any large party, Sir William, even when
satisfied that they cannot get hold of the man who has incensed them.
These Indians are a very cunning people, and they often satisfy even
their notions of honor by an artifice, especially when two duties, as
they consider them, are in opposition to one another. Depend upon it,
after what passed yesterday, they will commit no act of national
hostility against England. They are pledged to us, and will not break
their pledge. They will attack no large party, nor slay any Englishman
in open strife, though they may kidnap some solitary individual, and,
according to their curious notions of atonement, make him a formal
sacrifice in expiation of the blood shed by another."
"You know the Indians well, Prevost," said Sir William, gravely,
"marvellously well, considering the short time you have been amongst
them."
"I have had little else to do than to study them," said the other,
"and the subject is one of great interest. But do you think I am wrong
in the view I take, my good friend?"
"Quite on the contrary," replied Sir William, "and that is the reason
I send the soldiers with you. A party of eight or ten will be
perfectly secure; and I would certainly advise that for the next two
or three months, or till this unlucky dog Brooks, or Woodchuck, as he
is called, has been captured, no one should go any distance from his
home singly. Such a party as yours might be large enough--I am not
sure that my lord's red coat, which I am happy to see he has got on
to-day, might not be sufficient protection, for they will not risk
anything which they themselves deem an act of hostility against the
British government. But still the soldiers will make the matter more
secure till you have passed the spot where there is any danger of
their being found. I repeat, I know of no peril, but I would fain
guard against all where a fair lady is concerned," and he bowed
gracefully to Edith.
Little more was said, and, taking leave of their host, Mr. Prevost's
party mounted their horses and set out, followed by a corporal's guard
of dragoons, a small body of which corps was then stationed in the
province of New York, although, from the nature of the country in
which hostilities had hitherto been carried on, small opportunity had
as yet been afforded them of showing their powers against an enemy.
Nor would there have been any very favorable opportunity for doing so
in the present instance had Mr. Prevost and his companions been
attacked, for though the road they had to travel was broad and open,
compared to an ordinary Indian trail, yet, except at one or two
points, it was hemmed in with impervious forests, where the action of
cavalry would be quite impossible, and under the screen of which a
skillful marksman might bring down his man himself unperceived. But
Sir William Johnson was sincere in saying that he believed the very
sight of the English soldiers would be quite sufficient protection.
The Indians, he knew right well, would avoid anything like a struggle
or a contest, and would more especially take care not to come into
collision of any kind with the troops of their British allies. It was
likely that they would depend upon cunning entirely to obtain a victim
wherewith to appease their vengeance, but on this probability he did
not choose altogether to rely. He saw them depart, however, with
perfect confidence, as the soldiers were with them; and they proceeded
without seeing a single human being after they quitted his settlement,
till they reached the shores of the small lake near which they had
halted on their previous journey, and where they again dismounted to
take refreshment.
It was a very pleasant spot, and well fitted for a resting place; nor
was repose altogether needless, though the distance already traveled
was not great either for man or horse. But the day was exceedingly
oppressive, like one of those which come in what is called the Indian
summer, when the weather, after many a frosty day, becomes suddenly
sultry, as if in the middle of June, and the air, loaded with thin
yellow vapor, well deserves the term of "smoky," usually given to it
on the western side of the Atlantic. Yet there was no want of air; the
wind blew from the southeast, but there was no freshness on the
breeze. It was like the sirocco, taking away strength and freshness
from all it breathed upon; and the horses, after being freed from the
burdens they bore, stood for several minutes with bent heads and
heaving sides, without attempting to crop the forest grass beneath the
trees.
Thus, repose was sweet, and the look of the little lake was cool and
refreshing. The travelers lingered there somewhat after the hour at
which they proposed to depart, and it was the negro, who took care of
the baggage, who first warned them of the waning of the day.
"Massa forget," he said, "sun go early to bed in October. Twelve mile
to go yet, and road wuss nor dis."
"True, true," replied Mr. Prevost, rising. "We had better go on, my
lord, for it is now past two, and we shall barely reach home by
daylight. I really think, Corporal," he continued, turning to the
non-commissioned officer who had been seated with his men hard by,
enjoying some of the good things of life, "that we need not trouble
you to go farther. There is no trace of any Indians, nor, indeed, any
human beings in the forest but ourselves. Had there been so, my good
friend Chaudo, here, would have discovered it, for he knows their
tracks as well as any of their own people."
"Dat I do," replied the negro to whom he pointed. "No Ingin pass dis
road since yesterday, I swear."
"My orders were to go to the big blazed basswood tree, four miles
farther," replied the soldier, in a firm but respectful tone, "and I
must obey orders."
"You are right," said Lord H----, pleased with the man's demeanor.
"What is your name, Corporal?"
"Clitherto, my lord," replied the man, with a military salute;
"Corporal Clitherto."
Lord H---- bowed his head, and the party, remounting, pursued their
way. The road, however, as the negro had said, was more difficult in
advance than it had been nearer to Sir William Johnson's settlement,
and it took the whole party an hour to reach the great basswood tree
which had been mentioned, and which was marked out from the rest of
the forest by three large marks upon the bark, hewn by some surveyor's
axe when the road had been laid out. There the party stopped for a
moment or two, and with a few words of thanks Mr. Prevost and his
companions parted from their escort.
"How dim the air along the path is," said Lord H----, looking on, "and
yet the sun, getting to the west, is shining right down it through the
valley. One could almost imagine it was filled with smoke."
"This is what we call a smoky day in America," replied Mr. Prevost,
"but I never knew the Indian summer come on us with such a wind."
No more was said on that matter at the time, and as the road grew
narrower, Mr. Prevost and the negro, as best acquainted with the way,
rode first, while Lord H---- followed by Edith's side, conversing with
her in quiet and easy tones, but with words which sometimes caused the
color to vary a little in her cheek.
Thus they went on for some four miles farther, and the evening was
evidently closing round them rapidly, though no ray had yet passed
from the sky. Suddenly Mr. Prevost drew in his rein, saying in a low
but distinct voice to the negro: "What is that crossing the road?"
"No Ingin!" cried the negro, whose eyes had been constantly bent
forward.
"Surely there is smoke drifting across the path," said Mr. Prevost,
"and I think I smell it, also."
"I have thought so for some time," said Lord H----, who was now close
to them with Edith. "Are fires common in these woods?"
"Not very," answered Mr. Prevost, "but the season has been unusually
dry. Good heaven, I hope my fears are not prophetic! I have been
thinking all day of what would become of The Lodge if the forest were
to take fire."
"We had better ride on as fast as possible," said the young nobleman,
"for then if the worst happens we may be able to save some of your
property, Mr. Prevost."
"We must be cautious, we must be cautious," said the other, in a
thoughtful tone. "Fire is a capricious element, and often runs in a
direction the least expected. I have heard of people getting so
entangled in a burning wood as not to be able to escape."
"Oh, yes," cried the negro, "when I were little boy, I remember quite
well Massa John Bostock and five other men wid him git in pine wood
behind Albany, and it catch fire. He run here and dere, but it git all
round him and roast him up black as I be. I saw dem bring in what dey
fancied was he, but it no better dan a great pine stump."
"If I remember," said Lord H----, "we passed a high hill somewhere
near this spot, where we had a fine, clear view over the whole of the
woody region round. We had better make for that at once. The fire
cannot yet have reached it, if my remembrance of the distance is
correct; for though the wind sets toward us the smoke is, as yet,
anything but dense."
"Pray God it be so," said Mr. Prevost, spurring forward, "but I fear
it is nearer."
The rest followed as quickly as the stumps and the fallen trees would
let them, and at the distance of half a mile began the ascent of the
hill to which Lord H---- had alluded. As far as that spot the smoke
had been becoming denser and denser every moment, apparently pouring
along the valley formed by that hill and another on the left, through
which valley, let it be remarked, the small river in which Walter had
been seen fishing by Sir William Johnson, but now a broad and very
shallow stream, took its course onward toward the Mohawk. As they
began to ascend, however, the smoke decreased, and Edith exclaimed
joyfully: "I hope, dear father, the fire is farther to the north."
"We shall see, we shall see," said Mr. Prevost, still pushing his
horse forward. "The sun is going down fast, and a little haste will be
better on all accounts."
In about five minutes more the summit of the hill was reached, at a
spot where, in laying out two roads which crossed each other there,
the surveyors had cleared away a considerable portion of the wood,
leaving, as Lord H---- had said, a clear view over the greater part of
the undulating forest country lying in the angle formed by the upper
Hudson and the Mohawk. The only sign of man's habitation which could
be discovered at any time was the roof and chimneys of Mr. Prevost's
house, which in general could be perceived rising above the trees,
upon an eminence a good deal lower than the summit which the travelers
had now reached. Now, however, the house could not be seen.
The sight which the country presented was a fine but a terrible one.
On the one side the sun, with his lower limb just dipped beneath the
forest, was casting up floods of many-colored light, orange and
purple, gold, and even green, upon the light, fantastic clouds
scattered over the western sky; while above, some fleecy vapors,
fleeting quickly along, were all rosy with the touch of his beams.
Onward to the east and north, filling up the whole valley between the
hill on which they stood and the eminence crowned by Mr. Prevost's
house, and forming an almost semi-circular line of some three or four
miles in extent, was a dense, reddish-brown cloud of smoke, marking
where the fire raged, and softening off at each extreme to a bluish
gray. No general flame could be perceived through this heavy cloud,
but ever and anon a sudden flash would break across it, not bright and
vivid, but dull and half obscured, when the fierce elements got hold
of some of the drier and more combustible materials of the forest.
Once or twice, too, suddenly at one point of the line or another, a
single tree, taller perhaps than the rest, or more inflammable, or
garmented in a thick matting of dry vine, would catch the flame and
burst forth from the root to the topmost branch, like a tall column of
fire; and here and there, too, from what cause I know not--perhaps
from an accumulation of dry grass and withered leaves, seized upon by
the fire and wind together--a volley of sparks would mingle with the
cloud of smoke and float along, for a moment, bright and sparkling, to
the westward.
It was a grand but an awful spectacle, and as Mr. Prevost gazed upon
it thoughts and feelings crowded into his bosom which even Edith
herself could not estimate.
"Look, look, Prevost!" cried Lord H----, after they had gazed during
one or two minutes in silence. "The wind is drifting away the smoke! I
can see the top of your house--it is safe, as yet--and will be safe,"
he added, "for the wind sets somewhat away from it."
"Not enough," said Mr. Prevost, in a dull, gloomy tone. "The slightest
change, and it is gone. The house I care not for; the barns, the
crops, are nothing! They can be replaced, or I could do without them;
but there are things within that house, my lord, I cannot do without."
"Do you not think we can reach it?" asked Lord H----. "If we were to
push our horses into the stream there, we might follow its course
up--it seems broad and shallow--and the trees recede from the
banks--are there any deep spots in its course?"
"None, massa," replied the negro.
"Let us try, at all events," exclaimed Lord H----, turning his horse's
head. "We can come back again if we find the heat and smoke too much
for us."
"My daughter!" said Mr. Prevost, in a tone of deep, strong feeling,
"my daughter! Lord H----."
The young nobleman was silent. The stories he had heard that day, and
many he had heard before, of persons getting entangled in burning
forests, and never being able to escape--which, while in the first
enthusiasm of the moment he thought only of himself and of Mr.
Prevost, had seemed to him but visions, wild chimeras--assumed a
terrible reality as soon as the name of Edith was mentioned, and he
would have shuddered to see the proposal adopted which he had made
only the moment before. He was silent then, and Mr. Prevost was the
first who spoke.
"I must go," he said, with gloomy earnestness, after some brief
consideration. "I must go, let what will betide."
He remained for two or three minutes profoundly silent. Then, turning
suddenly to Lord H----, he said: "My lord, I am going to entrust to
you the dearest thing I have on earth, my daughter--to place her under
the safeguard of your honor--to rely for her protection and defence
upon your chivalry. As an English nobleman of high name and fame, I do
trust you without a doubt. I must make my way through that fire by
some means--I must save some papers--two pictures which I value more
than my own life. I will take my good friend Chaudo here with me. I
must leave you to conduct Edith to a place of safety."
"Oh, my father!" cried Edith, but he went on, without heeding her:
"If you follow that road," he continued, "you will come at the
distance of some seven miles, to a good-sized farmhouse on the left of
the road. The men are most likely out watching the progress of the
fire, but you will find the women within, and good and friendly they
are, though homely and uneducated. I have no time to stop for further
directions. Edith, my child, God bless you! Do not cloud our parting
with a doubt of heaven's protection. Should anything occur--and be it
as He wills--you and Walter will find with the lawyers at Albany all
papers referring to this small farm, and to the little we have in
England. God bless you, my child! God bless you!" and thus saying, he
turned and rode fast down the hill, beckoning to the negro to follow
him.
"Oh, my father! my father!" cried Edith, dropping her rein and
clasping her hands together, longing to follow, yet unwilling to
disobey. "He will be lost--I fear he will be lost!"
"I trust not," said Lord H----, in a firm, calm tone, well fitted to
inspire confidence. "He knows the country well, and can take advantage
of every turning to avoid the flame. Besides, if you look along what I
imagine to be the course of the stream, you will see a deep
undulation, as it were, in that sea of smoke, and when the wind blows
strongly it is almost clear. He said, too, that the banks continued
free from trees."
"As far as the bridge and the rapids near our house," replied Edith;
"but after that they are thickly wooded."
"But the fire has evidently not reached that spot," said the young
nobleman. "All the ground within half a mile of the house is free at
present. I saw it quite distinctly a moment ago, and the wind is
setting this way."
"Then can we not follow him?" asked his fair companion, imploringly.
"To what purpose?" asked Lord H----; "and besides," he added, "now let
me call to your mind the answer of the good soldier, Corporal
Clitherto, just now. He said he must obey orders, and he was right. A
soldier to his commander, a child to a parent, a Christian to his God:
have, I think, but one duty--to obey. Come, Edith, let us follow the
directions we have received. The sun is already beneath the forest
edge; we can do no good gazing here; and although I do not think there
is any danger, and believe you will be safe under my protection, yet,
for many reasons, I could wish to place you beneath the shelter of a
roof, and in the society of other women as soon as may be."
"Thank you much," she answered, gazing up into his face, on which the
lingering light in the west cast a warm glow. "You remind me of my
duty, and strengthen me to follow it. I have no fear of any danger
with you to protect me, my lord. It was for my father only I feared.
But it was wrong to do so, even for him. God will protect, I do hope
and believe. We must take this way, my lord," and with a deep sigh she
turned her horse's head upon the path which her father had pointed
out.
No general subject of conversation could, of course, be acceptable
at that moment; but one topic they had to discuss. And yet Lord
H---- made more of that than some men would have made of a thousand.
He comforted, he consoled, he raised up hope and expectation. His
words were full of promise; and from everything he wrung some
illustration to support and cheer.
A few moments after they left the summit of the hill and began the
more gentle descent which stretched away to the southeast, the last
rays of the sun were withdrawn and night succeeded; but it was the
bright and sparkling night of the American sky. There was no moon,
indeed, but the stars burst forth in multitudes over the firmament,
larger, more brilliant than they are ever beheld even in the clearest
European atmosphere, and they gave light enough to enable the two
travelers to see their path. The wind still blew strongly, and carried
the smoke away, and the road was wide enough to show the starry canopy
overhanging the trees. Obliged to go very slowly, but little progress
had been made in an hour, and by that time a strong odor of the
burning wood and a pungent feeling in the eyes, showed that some
portion of the smoke was reaching them.
"I fear the wind has changed," said Edith. "The smoke seems coming
this way."
"The better for your father's house, dear lady," answered Lord
H----. "It was a change to the westward he had to fear; the more fully
east the better."
They fell into silence again, but in a minute or two after, looking to
the left of the road, where the trees were very closely set, though
there was an immense mass of brushwood underneath, Lord H---- beheld a
small, solitary spot of light, like a lamp burning. It was seen and
hidden, seen and hidden again by the trees as they rode on, and must
have been at some three or four hundred yards distance. It seemed to
change its place, too, to shift, to quiver; and then, in a long,
winding line, it crept slowly round and round the boll of a tree like
a fiery serpent; and a moment after, with flash and crackling flame,
and fitful blaze, it spread flickering over the dry branches of a
pitch pine.
"The fire is coming nearer, dear Miss Prevost," said Lord H----, "and
it is necessary we should use some forethought. How far, think you,
this farmhouse is now?"
"Nearly four miles," answered Edith.
"Does it lie due south?" asked her companion.
"Very nearly," she replied.
"Is there any road to the westward?" demanded the young nobleman, with
his eyes still fixed upon the distant flame.
"Yes." she answered; "about half a mile on there is a tolerable path
made along the side of the hill on the west, to avoid the swamp during
wet weather; but it rejoins this road a mile or so farther on."
"Let us make haste," said Lord H----, abruptly; "the road seems fair
enough just here, and I fear there is no time to lose."
He put his hand upon Edith's rein as he spoke, to guide the horse on,
and rode forward perhaps somewhat less than a quarter of a mile,
watching with an eager eye the increasing light to the east, where it
was now seen glimmering through the trees in every direction, looking,
through the fretted trellis-work of branches, trunks, and leaves, like
a multitude of red lamps hung up in the forest. Suddenly, at a spot
where there was an open space or streak, as it was called, running
through some two or three hundred yards of the wood, covered densely
with brush, but destitute of tall trees, the whole mass of the fire
appeared to view, and the travelers seemed gazing into the mouth of a
furnace. Just then the wind shifted a little more and blew down the
streak; the cloud of smoke rolled forward; flash after flash burst
forth along the line as the flame caught the withered leaves on the
top of the branches; then the bushes themselves were seized upon by
the fire, and sent flaming tongues far up into the air. Onward it
rushed, with a roar, and a crackle, and a hiss, caught the taller
trees on either side, and poured across the road right in front.
Edith's horse, unaccustomed to such a sight, started, and pulled
vehemently back; but Lord H----, snatching her riding whip from her
hand, struck him sharply on the flank, and forced him forward by the
rein. But again the beast resisted; not a moment was to be lost; time
wasted in the struggle must have been fatal; and, casting the bridle
free, he threw his right arm round her light form, lifted her from the
saddle, and seated her safely before him. Then, striking his spurs
into the sides of his well-trained charger, he dashed at full speed
through the burning bushes, and in two minutes had gained the ground
beyond the fire.
"You are saved, dear Edith!" he said. "You are saved!"
He could not call her Miss Prevost then; and though she heard the name
he gave her, at that moment of gratitude and thanksgiving it sounded
only sweetly on her ear.
"Thank God! thank God!" said Edith; "and oh, my lord, how can I ever
show my gratitude to you?"
Lord H---- was silent for a moment, and then said in a low tone--for
it would be spoken: "Dear Edith, I have no claim to gratitude; but if
you can give me love instead, the gratitude shall be yours for life.
But I am wrong, very wrong, for speaking to you thus at this moment,
and in these circumstances. Yet there are emotions which force
themselves into words whether we will or not. Forget those I have
spoken, and do not tremble so, for they shall be no more repeated till
I find a fitter occasion--then they shall immediately. Now, dear
Edith, I will ride slowly on with you to this farmhouse, will leave
you there with the good people, and, if possible, get somebody to
guide me round another way to join your father, and assure him of your
safety. That he is safe I feel certain, for this very change of wind
must have driven the fire away from him. Would you rather walk? For I
am afraid you have an uneasy seat, and we are quite safe now; the
flames will go another way."
From many motives Edith preferred to go on foot, and Lord
H---- suffered her to slip gently to the ground. Then dismounting
himself, he drew her arm within his own, and leading his horse by the
bridle, proceeded along the road over the shoulder of the hill,
leaving the lower road, which the flame still menaced, on their
left Edith needed support, and their progress was slow, but Lord
H---- touched no more upon any subject that could agitate her, and at
the end of about an hour and a half they reached the farmhouse, and
knocked for admission.
There was no answer, however. No dogs barked, no sounds were heard,
and all was dark within. Lord H---- knocked again. Still all was
silent; and putting his hand upon the latch, he opened the door.
"The house seems deserted," he said; and then, raising his voice, he
called loudly, to wake any slumbering inhabitant who might be within.
Still no answer was returned, and he felt puzzled and more agitated
than he would have been in the presence of any real danger. There was
no other place of shelter near; he could not leave Edith there, as he
had proposed; and yet the thought of passing a long night with her in
that deserted house produced a feeling of indecision, checkered by
many emotions which were not usual to him.
"This is most unlucky," he said. "What is to be done now?"
"I know not," said Edith, in a low and distressed tone. "I fear,
indeed, the good people are gone. If the moon would but rise, we might
see what is really in the house."
"I can get a light," replied Lord H----. "There is wood enough
scattered about to light a fire. Stay here in the doorway while I
fasten my horse and gather some sticks together. I will not go out of
sight." The sticks were soon gathered and carried to the large
kitchen, into which the door opened directly. Lord H----'s pistol,
which he took from the holsters, afforded the means of lighting a
cheerful fire on the hearth, and as soon as it blazed up a number of
objects were seen in the room which showed that the house had been
inhabited lately, and abandoned suddenly. Little of the furniture
seemed to have been carried away, indeed; and amongst the first things
that were perceived, much to Edith's comfort, were candles and a tin
lamp of Dutch manufacture, ready trimmed. These were soon lighted, and
Lord H----, taking his fair companion's hand in his, and gazing fondly
on her pale and weary face, begged her to seek some repose. "I cannot,
of course," he said, "leave you here and seek your father, as I
proposed just now; but if you will go upstairs, and seek some room
where you can lock yourself in, in case of danger, I will keep guard
here below. Most likely all the people of the house have gone forth to
watch the progress of the fire, and may return speedily."
Edith mused, and shook her head, saying: "I think something else must
have frightened them away."
"Would you have courage to fire a pistol in case of need?" asked Lord
H----, in a low tone. Edith gently inclined her head, and he then
added: "Stay! I will charge this for you again."
He then reloaded the pistol, the charge of which he had drawn to light
the fire, and was placing it in Edith's hand, when a tall, dark figure
glided into the room with a step perfectly noiseless. Lord H---- drew
her suddenly back and placed himself before her, but a second glance
showed him the dignified form and fine features of Otaitsa's father.
"Peace," said the old chief. "Peace to you, my brother," and he held
out his hand to Lord H----, who took it frankly. Black Eagle then
unfastened the blue blanket from his shoulders and threw it around
Edith, saying: "Thou art my daughter, and art safe. I have heard the
voice of the Cataract, and its sound was sweet. It is a great water,
and a good. The counsel is wise, my daughter. Go thou up and rest in
peace. The Black Eagle will watch by the Cataract till the eyes of
morning open in the east. The Black Eagle will watch for thee as for
his own young, and thou art safe."
"I know I am, when thou art near me, Father," said Edith, taking his
brown hand in hers, "but is it so with all mine?"
"If I can make it so," answered Black Eagle. "Go, daughter, and be at
peace. This one at least is safe also, for he is a great chief of our
white fathers, and we have a treaty with him. The man of the Five
Nations who would lift his hand against him is accursed."
Edith knew that she could extract nothing more from him, and with her
mind somewhat lightened, but not wholly relieved, she ascended to the
upper story. Lord H---- seated himself on the step at the foot of the
stairs, and the Indian chief crouched down beside him. But both kept a
profound silence, and in a few minutes after, the moon, slowly rising
over the piece of cleared ground in front, poured in upon their two
figures as they sat there side by side, in strange contrast.
CHAPTER IX
There is the fate of another connected with the events of that night
of whom some notice must be taken, from the influence which his
destiny exercised over the destinies of all. With greater promptness
and celerity than had been expected from him, even by those who knew
him best, Walter Prevost had executed the business entrusted to him,
and was ready to set out from Albany a full day at least before his
return had been expected by his family. Fortune had favored him, it is
true. He had found the commander-in-chief in the city, and at leisure.
A man of a prompt and active mind, he had readily appreciated the
promptness and activity of the lad, and his business had been
dispatched as readily as circumstances permitted.
A boat sailing up the Hudson with some stores and goods for traffic,
was found, to carry him a considerable way on his journey; and he was
landing at a point on the western bank of the river, some seventeen
miles from his father's house, at the very moment that Mr. Prevost,
Lord H----, and Edith were mounting by the side of the little lake to
pursue their journey. The way before him was rough and uneven, and
somewhat intricate, but he thought he knew it sufficiently to make his
way by it, before sunset, to a better known part of the country; and
he hurried on with youthful confidence and vigor. His rifle in his
hand, his knapsack on his shoulder, and a good large hunting knife in
his belt, with great agility of limbs and no small portion of bodily
vigor, he would have proved no contemptible opponent in the presence
of any single enemy. But he never thought of enemies, and all in his
bosom was courage, and joy, and expectation.
Whatever great cities, and camps, and courts might have offered,
Albany, at least, a small provincial capital, filled with a staid and
somewhat rigid people, and only enlivened by the presence of a
regiment or two of soldiers, had no attraction for him, and he was
heartily glad to escape from it again to the free life around his
paternal dwelling, and to the society of his father and Edith--and
Otaitsa. Steadily he went along, climbed the hills, strode along the
plain, and forded the river. The traces of cultivation soon became
fewer, and then ceased; and following resolutely the path before him,
two hours passed before he halted even to look around. Then, however,
he paused for a minute or two to consider his onward course. Two or
three Indian trails crossed at the spot where he stood, one of them so
deeply indented in the ground as to show that its frequent use existed
from a very ancient date. Its course seemed to be in the direction
which he wanted to go; and he thought he remembered having followed it
some months before. Across it ran the settlers' way, broader and
better marked out, but not very direct to his father's house; and he
was hesitating which he should take when the sound of creaking wheels,
and the cry used by ploughmen and teamsters to their cattle, showed
him that someone was coming who was likely to give him better
information. That information seemed the more necessary as the day was
already far on the decline, and he had not yet reached a spot of which
he could be certain. A moment or two after, coming up a lane in the
wood, as it would be called in England, appeared a heavy ox wagon
drawn by four steers, and loaded with three women and a number of
boxes, while by the side of the rude vehicle appeared three men on
foot and one on horseback, each very well armed, together with no less
than five dogs of different descriptions.
Walter instantly recognized in the horseman the good farmer who lived
some ten miles to the southwest of his father's house. The farmer was
a good-humored, kindly-hearted man, honest enough, but somewhat
selfish in his way, always wishing to have the best of a bargain, if
it could be obtained without absolute roguery, yet willing enough to
share the fruits of his labor or his cunning with anyone who might be
in need.
On the present occasion, however, he was either sullen or stupid, and
it was indeed clear that he and his male companions had been drinking
quite enough to dull the edge of intellect in some degree. Those on
foot went on, without even stopping the oxen to speak with their young
neighbor, and the farmer himself only paused for a moment or two to
answer Walter's questions.
"Why, Mr. Whittier," said the young gentleman, "you seem to be moving
with all your family."
"Ay, ay," answered the farmer, a look of dull cunning coming to his
face, "I don't like the look of things. I had a hint. I guess there
are other places better than the forest just now--though not so warm,
mayhap."
"Why, what is the matter?" asked Walter. "Has anything happened?"
"Oh, no," answered the farmer, looking uncomfortable, and giving his
bridle a little sort of jerk, as if he wished to pass on. "The
forest's too full of Ingians for my notion; but as you and your father
are so fond of them and they of you, there's no harm will come to you,
I guess."
His manner was almost uncivil, and Walter moved out of his way without
even asking the question he had intended. The man passed on, but
suddenly he seemed to think better of the matter, and turning round in
the saddle, called out in a voice much louder than necessary,
considering the distance between them: "I say, Master Walter, if
you're going home, you'd better take that deep trail to the right. I
guess it's shorter and safer, and them red devils, or some other
vermin, have set fire to the wood on there. It's not much of a thing
just yet, but there's no knowing how it will spread. However, if you
keep to the west you'll get on. I'm going to more civilized parts for
a month or two, seeing I've got all my crops in safe."
As soon as these words were uttered he turned and rode after his
wagon, and Walter at once took the Indian trail which the other had
mentioned. About half a mile further on he for the first time
perceived the smell of smoke, and as soon as he reached the summit of
another hill beyond, the whole scene of the conflagration was before
his eyes. Between the spot where he stood and his father's house
stretched a broad belt of fire and smoke, extending a full mile to the
north, farther than he had expected from the vague account of the
farmer; and the cloud of brownish vapor had rolled so far up the
opposite slope that the lad could neither see the dwelling itself nor
distinguish what spot the fire had actually reached.
Ignorant of the absence of Mr. Prevost and Edith, and well aware how
rapidly the flame extended when once kindled in a wood, after a long
season of dry weather, Walter's heart sank as he gazed. But he lost no
time in useless hesitation. The sun was already setting; the distance
was still considerable, and he resolved at once to break through the
fiery circle if it were possible and reach his home at once. Onward he
plunged then, down the side of the hill, and the moment he descended
the whole scene was shut out from his sight so completely that but for
the strong and increasing smell of burning pine wood, and a feeling of
unnatural warmth, he would have had no intimation that a fire was
raging close at hand. As he came nearer and nearer, however, a certain
rushing sound met his ear, something like that of a heavy gale of wind
sweeping the forest, and the smoke became suffocating, while through
the branches and stems of the trees a red light shone, especially
toward the south and west, showing where the fire raged with the
greatest fierceness.
Breathing thick and fast, he hurried on, lighted by the flames alone,
for the sun had sunk by this time, and the dense cloud of smoke which
hung over this part of the wood shut out every star, till at length he
reached the very verge of the conflagration. Some hundreds of acres
lay before him, with trees, some fallen one over the other, some still
standing, but deprived of foliage, masses of brushwood and long
trailing vines, all glowing with intense heat. He felt that to proceed
in that direction was death. He could hardly draw his breath; his face
felt scorched and burning, and yet the drops of perspiration rolled
heavily from his forehead.
Retreating a little to escape the heat, he turned his steps northward;
but by that time he had lost the trail, and he was forcing his way
through the brushwood, encumbered by his rifle and knapsack, when
suddenly, by the light of the fire shining through the trees, he saw a
dark figure, some twenty or thirty yards before him, waving to him
eagerly, and apparently calling to him, also. The roar and crackling
of the burning wood was too loud for any other sounds to be heard, but
the gestures of the figure seemed to direct him toward the south
again, and obeying the signs, he soon found himself once more upon an
Indian trail. The next instant the figure he had seen was upon the
same path, and a little nearer; but it was that of an Indian, and in
the smoky light Walter Prevost could not distinguish his tribe or
nation. He advanced cautiously then, with his thumb upon the cock of
the rifle; but as soon as he was within hearing the man called to him
in the Oneida tongue, and in a friendly tone telling him to follow,
and warning him that death lay to the westward.
Thrown off his guard by such signs of interest, the lad advanced with
a quick step, and was soon close to his guide, though the man walked
fast.
"Is the house burnt, brother?" asked the youth, eagerly.
"What, the lodge of the paleface?" said the Indian. "No; it stands
fast."
"Thank God for that!" said Walter Prevost, in English; but the words
had hardly passed his lips when he suddenly felt his arms seized from
behind, his rifle was wrested from his hands, and he himself cast
backward on the ground.
Two savage faces glared above him, and he expected to see the gleam of
the deadly tomahawk the next instant.
"What now!" he exclaimed in Oneida. "Am I not your brother? Am I not
the son of the Black Eagle, and a friend of the children of the
Stone?"
There was no answer, but in dead silence the Indians proceeded with
rapid hands to bind his arms with thongs of deerskin, and then,
raising him on his feet, forced him to retrace his steps along the
very trail which had brought him thither.
CHAPTER X
Day broke slowly and heavily under a gray cloud, and found Lord
H---- and the Indian chief still seated side by side at the entrance
of the farmhouse. A word or two had passed between them in the earlier
part of the night, but for many hours before dawn they had remained
perfectly silent. Only once through the hours of their watch had Black
Eagle moved from his seat, and that was nearly at midnight. The ears
of Lord H---- had been on the watch as well as his own; but though the
young English nobleman heard no sound, the chief caught a distant
footfall about a quarter before twelve, and starting up he listened
attentively. Then, moving slowly toward the door, he stood there a few
moments as still as a statue. Presently Lord H---- caught the sound
which had moved him, though it was exceedingly light, and the next
instant another dark figure, not quite so tall as that of the chief,
darkened the moonlight, and threw its shadow into the doorway. A few
words then passed between the two Indians, in their native tongue, at
first low and musical in tone, but then rising high, in accents which
seemed to the ear of the listener to express grief or anger. Not more
than five sentences were spoken on either part, and then the last
comer bounded away, with a quick and seemingly reckless step, into the
forest, and the old chief returned and seated himself, assuming
exactly the same attitude as before.
When day dawned, however, Black Eagle rose and said in English: "It is
day, my brother; let the voice of the Cataract awake the maiden, and I
will lead you on the way. Her horse has not yet come, but if it have
not run with the wind, or fed upon the fire, it will be here
speedily."
"Do you know, then, what became of it after it broke away from us?"
asked Lord H----.
"Nay," answered the Indian, "I know not; but my steps were in yours
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